Mystery Trio-Mystery Duo
by NemoAves
Summary: Occurs after Season 2 ep. Society of the Blind Eye. Fiddleford McGucket's memories have been slowly returning thanks to the actions of the Pines Twins. The more he remembers the more his thoughts turn to one Stanford Pines. And their past together. Where will this lead? read to find out. FiddleStan. Theories Confirmed Motherfuckers! Hell yeah! Sex does occur in this folks. Beware!
1. And Then There Were Two

And here we are kids. Please enjoy. Formerly apologize to anyone waiting for my other fics. Those are on the way!

"Talking", 'Thinking in first person', _Visions/dreams/emphasis_

888888888888888888888888= long page break 88888= simultaneous scenes

Beginning scene is taken in reference to part two from this comic by the adorbs CrispyStar of Tumblr. Who was my gateway drug to this pairing.

post/107435825958/mystery-trio-comic-footprints-part-1-2-i-just#notes

I own nothing! Enjoy!

Alternate: And then there were two

_Heavy snow fall covers a cozy cabin in the small town of Gravity Falls. Fiddleford McGucket finds himself inside, occupied with the newcomers turned friends who are residents of the cabin. One especially, who thought he could go around in frost bitten weather with no protective clothes on-save a scarf loaned from Fiddleford himself. _

_"ACHOO!"_

_Fiddleford casually leans away from the large sneeze of one Stanford Pines as he looks at the thermometer, checking his friend's temperature. _

_The device reads 103 degrees Fahrenheit. Just as he suspected. _

_"We told you, you would get sick!" He says in a cheerful yet gently scolding tone as he lays a sympathetic hand on the other's blanket covered shoulder. Really, what was he thinking? _

_Stanford, for his part, gives a glare out of red rimmed eyes and answers "Ah, Sh-sh-shuddup."_

_The words are weak and glum, said with no real heat. And Fiddleford happily ignores them as he goes and brings a bowl to the sick young man shivering in the chair. He takes a brief look over to the other Pines brother, Stanley, but the researcher is deep in his work. Pouring over his notes and his journal; Fiddleford decides to leave him to it and tend to his sick friend. _

_"Here. I made you some chicken soup." _

_Stanford gives a deadpan expression at the cheerful bowl of soup and the equally cheerful man before him. _

_"Seriously. Dare tell me you're not acting like a mom now…" he grouses, unmoving. _

_Fiddleford feels some irritation creep into him, past jibes from friends and lovers alike of his "mother hen" tendencies coming back to him. To rub salt in the wound it was his mother's recipe he used to make the broth he was holding now. _

_Was it his fault he cared?_

_"I wouldn't have to if you weren't so childish Stanford!" He almost stamps his foot in his agitation._

_His flare of annoyance is quickly snuffed out though, when the other lets out another loud, yet pathetic sneeze instead of an answer. Nearly tipping the ice bag off his head. _

_Fiddleford makes a soft and fondly defeated sigh before saying a cheerful "Bless you."_

_Stanford replies with a grumble that Fiddleford decides to take as a "thank you" as he wipes his nose with a tissue._

_An all-seeing eye flashes across his vision._

Fiddleford McGucket opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling of his shelter at the dump, or "hobo mansion" as he used to call in in his more crazed state of mind. He concentrated on taking deep breathes as he tried to make sense of what his still somewhat foggy brain had shown him.

Was that a dream…?

No. A memory. A memory from before, before the Society, before his memory wiping device, before the demon. Before…before everything had gone to shit. Back then he had just been Fiddleford, young curator for the Gravity Falls Museum of Natural History, part time research assistant and amateur inventor on his own time. He had had a life back then, a real life. A good life.

Somewhat.

A job (for a sleepy little town with little interest in history), friends (who had mocked him for his association with the Pines twins and then deserted him when he began to fall into madness), a wife (a childhood friend he had agreed to marry to throw gossip off himself and to help her after his cousin knocked her up), and a bright, infant son (really his nephew, but he had and still did love him like he was his own). So much. So much was gone.

Thirty years.

So much time. Wasted. In madness. And sadness.

Alone. Almost.

Here he remained. And Stanford.

Stanford Pines.

Now there was a man that Fiddleford had come to contemplate on more and more as the days went by. It had been a few days since the former "local kook" had had his last adventure with Stanford's grandkids. Dipper and Mabel Pines. Bright children, if a bit silly. But they were young.

How they reminded Fiddleford of Stanley and Sanford. Especially when they had returned his memories and his past to him. Once more his life had been turned around by a pair of twins by the name of Pines. And once more he was left to deal with the changes it caused.

He had simply wandered about since then, his rebooted mind clearing out the cobwebs as he dithered on contacting his son and Stanford or remaining in his mad scientist lab/hobo hut until he was well again. Or well enough.

Yesterday he had found his old trunk from college. He had dragged it out with him when he had finally left his home for good, the last dregs of his sanity leading him away from his family. He knew what lay in this time capsule, and just wasn't ready to open it yet. Though he called himself Fiddleford, he wasn't him yet. Not truly, the last bits of murk needed to be cleared from his mind before he truly felt like his old self again.

Until then, he'd continue to dress like a crazed hillbilly.

As he made breakfast Fiddleford gazed down at his hand in its thirty year old cast, rather impressed that it had managed to stay intact this long. He wiggled his fingers and gave a small, mad giggle. Nope, he wasn't himself yet.

He mucked about his "home" the whole day, letting his brain flood with memories, good and bad, of his days as part of the "Mystery Trio" and their foolishness. The monsters, the adventures, the machine…

He never did get that scarf back.

Did Stanford keep it? How was his life now? From what Fiddleford had seen of him, it looked like Stan hadn't changed much over the years since Stanley's…disappearance. He was still the lovable rogue, chasing money and lovers and adventure, still in that house. And apparently still up to his eyeballs in weird shit.

In his mania Fiddleford had been caught in an adventure with the Pines family more than once, especially in recent weeks; some his own fault. And he had enjoyed it, something in his heart had lit up whenever he interacted with those kids and especially Stanford. Just like when he talked to his son, or his former wife.

Before he knew it Fiddleford found himself somewhere else, his feet having decided to occupy themselves while he was lost in his muddy thoughts. It took the former curator a moment to realize that not only was it past sun down but also that he was standing in the woods outside the Mystery Shack. Hiding behind a tree trunk he gazed at the formerly non-descript cabin. Lights were on and he could see figures moving about within.

His observations were cut short when an odd sound came to Fiddleford's attention. It was the growl of a ravenous beast, dying for a meal. He whirled around in surprise, a sharpened spoon materializing in his hand to defend himself with.

But there was nothing there.

The sound occurred again and Fiddleford swept his eyes downward. Moving his ridiculous beard aside the old man gazed at his stomach as it gave another murderous noise. He was hungry. Frightfully so.

His attention returned to the Mystery Shack, but for a completely different reason. The large dumpster at the back of the property. It was kept there until trash day and then would be pushed to the front of the property by Dipper for collection and then pushed back afterward. Over the many years Fiddelford had found this to be a veritable treasure trove of easy food. Especially now that the kids were living with Stan. Not only were there more occurrences of half eaten junk food- such as pizza, hamburgers, almost empty cans of Pitt Cola; but also there was more of a chance of fresh goodies.

Mabel had caught him digging through not too long ago and had made a habit of placing things especially for him. Most of them were nice, except for this weird punch full of stickers and dinosaur toys she would seal in plastic bags for him. It was great coming in, not so great coming out. It took him until now to actually understand why.

Well, he wasn't fully himself yet. And he felt he was about to collapse. So with stealth and timing made from years of habit, Fiddleford soon found himself propping up the lid of the dumpster and taking a look at the all you can eat buffet before him. As he rummaged he began to ignore the sounds coming from the house not too far away. And his attention was completely diverted upon the discovery of some foil wrapped pizza slices.

There was a note attached, it read "For Mr. McGucket" in Mabel's curly handwriting. With a grateful sigh the old man tucked the note away in his overalls (next to the spoon-shank) and began to happily munch away while continuing to scout out more courses for his meal. So occupied was he that he missed the sounds of goodnight's being said and a general silencing of the house as a whole.

He also missed the sounds of an old, tired con man going to stand on his back porch to enjoy a late night smoke.

Just as he was lifting out a half-eaten bag of chips Fiddleford realized his cover was blown.

"Hey! What are you doing in there?!" Stan's gravelly voice cut through the night and surprised the poor hobo. In his haste to get away Fiddleford hit his head on the lid of the dumpster- causing it to slam shut- and then fell on his back. Groaning in pain.

He brought a bandaged hand up to rub his sore head through his hat and watched as Stanford sedately walked up to him. Frown on his face and lit cigarette in one hand. The porch light cast shadows on his face, emphasizing lines while hiding others. He almost looked young again.

So much so that for a moment Fiddleford hoped that the last decades had been nothing but some bump induced half-dream and would melt away with a laugh from Stan at his clumsiness and an offer to help him up. The larger man would then pull his young, lanky frame up easily and then everything would be right in Stan's arms.

But that wasn't how things were.

"What are you doing in my trash Fiddleford?" Asked Stan, voice low and gruff.

Stanford watched as the smaller, dirtier man pulled his scattered thoughts in order and stared at him with surprisingly focused eyes.

"I'm a hobo. That's what we _do_ Stanford."

Stan raised his brows at the surprisingly condescending remark and watched as Fiddleford stood back up, his body making many pops and creaks that Stan knew all too well. He continued to watch as the hobo righted his clothes, muttering softly to himself in a way Stan had not seen him do in years, when he wore clothes worth fussing about. He had found it rather cute back then, and was rather surprised he somewhat did now.

"Are you just going to stare?" Fiddleford was looking at him now, hands on hips and acting every bit like he used to.

'Looks like the kids were right about his memory coming back' thought Stan as he caught himself actually blushing a little and sputtering for something to say.

A sudden growl from the smaller man's stomach gave him an idea.

"You-uh-you wanna come inside and have something real to eat?"

What was he saying? What was he saying?! After all this time?! There was no way he would agree-

"Sure. That-that's nice of you. Stanford." Said a surprised Fiddleford.

The two looked at each other a little awkwardly for a moment before Stan cleared his throat and then made a quick about face.

"Well, come on."

The two walked into the house, unaware that two preteens had been spying on them from their attic window.

Dipper looked at his sister, brows knitted in confusion and thought. They hadn't heard what had been said, but the way the two older males had acted around one another was odd. And the fact that Stan had invited McGucket in, now that-that was even odder.

"What was that all about?"

Dipper felt an odd shiver go down his spine as a grin crawled itself across his sister's face. It was similar to the same one she wore whenever she got into her "matchmaker" moods, but had a bit of an odd undertone.

The girl eyed her twin a moment before speaking, "Dipper, you ever wonder _why_ Grunkle Stan isn't married, or talks of being married or of any girlfriends or anything?"

"Uhhhhhhhhh, because he's hiding from the cops and we're children?" He asked, unusually slow on the uptake.

Mable pitied him for a moment. She had seen it, and now she had to make Dipper see it. While also giving her grunkle his privacy. For now.

Mable wrapped an arm around her brother's shoulders and said, "Bro bro, there's some things I think you need to know."

The things Dipper learned that night would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life.

Meanwhile, downstairs in the kitchen Stan was heating up some left over pasta from that night's dinner in the microwave and desperately trying to think of something to say. He leaned against the counter as the food heated up and cleared his throat awkwardly before once more trying to make conversation.

"So, uh…y-you remember, uh? Right?" He trailed off lamely, why was his silver tongue failing him now?!

Fiddleford watched as Stan struggled for words like some teenager and fought down the urge to giggle, it wasn't a mad one like the one from this morning though. It was a happy one; okay maybe it was a little mad, but a sane kind of mad.

"My memory still hasn't completely returned, but most of what happened between us I remember rather clearly." He answered, swinging his legs a little as he sat at the table. He had always been on the short side but age had shrunk him a little and now only his toes touched the ground as he sat.

The microwave beeped and Stan thankfully turned away to get the food. It was silent in the kitchen as the two old men sat, one eating and one lost in thought.

'If Fiddleford's got most of his brains back maybe he could help? Not likely. Get real old man, there were reasons he brain drained himself into kookiness. And you're one of the reasons, maybe even a main one. Why would he want anything to do with you?' Stan felt himself slump as his thoughts continued.

Fiddleford watched Stan as he ate, the pasta was quite good and filling. As his stomach filled with food his brain filled with thoughts of increasing order and connection. And doubt. Doubt that the reasons behind this kindness being nothing more than just that: a kindness, a brief pitying break in the mutual cold shouldering the two had done to each other.

Even before the end things had gone sour, he and Stan…stupid man just had to like women in hot pants. And he could do nothing about it because of his (fake) marriage and hesitant nature. Maybe if they had properly talked about it, maybe if Fiddleford hadn't been such a coward. Maybe if he had been _there_. They could have at least saved Stanley. Together.

What would Stanford want with him now?

His plate was empty, his cup of water drained. It was time he started getting his life together and maybe leave Gravity Falls. He would start here.

"I-I'm sorry Stanford. If I-I hadn't been so weak…Bill h-his words got the better of me. And Stanley paid for it. We all paid for it. It doesn't mean much now, but I am so very sorry." His eyes detailed the lines of his plate as he spoke, unable to look the other in the eye.

His eyes shot up when he hear the other's response.

"I'm sorry too. I…I'm not the best person, we both know this. And what happened…I'm as much at fault. Probably more so. (heh) Hell, I know so. I shouldn't had…I was stupid back then. Didn't realize what was right in front of me. And…I never blamed you. And I especially don't now."

"You didn't?" His voice was a soft, surprised squeak. But quickly grew in strength.

"But the machine. And Stanley. And-and- all that work."

"Yeah. I still don't blame you. And actually. About the machine…" He trailed off, unsure how to proceed.

If Fiddleford knew he had been trying to recreate it in recent years, if he knew it was working…and he didn't _like_ it…

Stan knew it wouldn't take the genius long to dismantle it. But he had to try. Especially since Bill was lurking about. The kids had told him about Bill's second appearance to them and he was sure the little demonic triangle was around now. Watching.

To know that he had a hand in FIddleford's descent… Stan clenched his hands into fists and directed his attention to the former local kook. That demon would take no more things from him, or anyone.

"What about the machine Stanford?" Those intelligent eyes gazed at him and he knew he had to say it. For both their sakes.

"I've been rebuilding it. It took a long time, especially with my utter lack of skill at scientific mumbo-jumbo, but I have it working. I followed your blueprints from the journals. It isn't stable though and I-"

He was cut off.

"YOU REBUILT THE MACHINE?! STANDFORD HAVE YOU GONE MAD?!"

Stan couldn't help his deadpan expression even as he shushed the suddenly screaming man who was wearing dirty bandages and torn overalls. The kids didn't know about his plans. And didn't need to know. Not yet.

Lucky for him, Mabel was still knee deep in her explanations and poor Dipper's brain was in the middle of meltdown. They heard nothing.

"Look, I know this is a crazy plan. But I can't, I just _can't_ leave him in there." Stan spoke quietly, yet vehemently.

If Fiddleford had a full set of teeth he'd be grinding them into oblivion. Quietly he snapped, "Stanford. How did you even manage to rebuild it? Let alone get it to turn on?! It took Stanley and me years to get it perfected, and even then things ended in disaster. How do you expect it to work? How do you plan to even calibrate it right?"

Fiddleford's mind was whirling, his thoughts going at a rate they hadn't in years. As he had spoken he had gotten up from the chair, straightening his back and slamming his cast covered hand on the table. His eyes alight with sanity and anger, and worry.

"That's why I wanted your help. I'm not giving up Fidds. If it was reversed I know Stanley would have done the same. _Please_, help me get him back." Stan had leaned forward as he had spoken, incensed.

"What makes you think he's even alive?" Fiddleford's voice was but a whisper.

"I know it. I know he's still in there. Fighting. And I also know he doesn't have a lot of time left. Please Fiddleford. Help me."

He was only half aware he had placed his hand over the others, only noticing he had done so when the smaller man looked at their two hands together. He didn't move away though, and neither did Stan.

The former inventor gazed at their two hands, and for a moment he could only think of how much nicer it would be if his arm wasn't in the cast and he could actually feel Stand's hand on his own.

'Dammit Stanford." He thought as he gave a sigh.

"Fine. I'll assist you."

"_You will_?" Stan's grip tightened on the smaller man's hand as he stood up in excitement.

Fiddleford looked up at him, "Yes. If this ends up killing me I'll at least die doing something worthwhile."

"Hey, hey, hey. That's no way to think!" Stan took his hand off of Fiddleford's and wrapped the other around his narrow shoulders. In the back of his mind he couldn't help but note how well the other slotted into place at his side, like a missing piece.

He looked down at the other man, a grin blossoming on his face. "With you and me working together I know we can do this."

Fiddleford fought the urge to blush at the sudden contact, hoping that the well water sponge bath he had taken that morning was enough to get off the dump smell. He mentally slapped himself to focus.

"What about the kids Stanford? Do Dipper and Mabel know?"

"No. I'm trying to keep them out of this. For as long as possible. Please don't say anything Fiddleford."

The former curator frowned at the look Stan directed his way and gave another defeated sigh. "Fine Stanford. I won't breathe a word. But if things get hairy, I'm telling them. Their bright kids and though it's dangerous if things go wrong they'll be in danger too and we'll need all the help we can get."

"Sure. Agreed."

What else was he going to say?

And so it was decided. Fiddleford would return in the early morning- after Stan somehow managed to get the kids out of the house and tell Wendy she had the day off- and they would get to work. After Fiddleford had left and Stan had placed the dishes in the sink he made his way to the vending machine.

He entered in the code and made his way discreetly down the secret stairs. He walked into the dilapidated lab and walked over to the desk he had set up by the recreated portal machine. On it were several items. His brother's first and second journals, a photocopied and taped together schematic of the machine, some tools, his brother's old glove, a framed photo of the kids and his brother's old glasses. He paused a moment to gaze at all of these items and then opened a drawer. Out of it he pulled out an old and well used scarf, it was a dark mustard color with a lighter plaid design.

Stan still remembered the day Fiddleford had nonchalantly given it to him, wrapping it around his neck as he boasted and talked with his brother. He had never asked for it back, and Stan had not so accidentally made sure he never recollected it was gone. He remembered when Stanely had caught him with it once, they had been out in the woods by themselves and his twin had spied it peeking out between Stan's own plaid scarf and his jacket.

Stan's face had gone as red as a tomato while Stanley had grinned at him.

The scarf had seen him through a lot of cold days and nights and was one of the few things he had made sure to keep with him over the years. Stan placed the scarf on the table next to the glasses, which sat next to the picture of Dipper and Mabel. He would leave it like that, Fiddleford needed to know.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Fiddleford woke up early the next morning, he rubbed the crust from his eyes and frowned at the half remembered dream he had. More memories and more triangles. As he stepped out of the mess of blankets and pillows he called a bed his gaze locked on to his trunk. He was ready for it now.

Stan grinned a fake grin as he waved off Dipper and Mabel, the two were off on some excursion with Wendy and her troupe of teens. They'd be gone all day. When they had driven off he turned to Soos who was working on washing the windows.

"Keep an eye out Soos. Big things are happening today. We have to be ready." Soos put on a determined expression and gave a quick salute, accidentally wetting his forehead with the rag he was using.

"You got it Mr. Pines."

"Someone sounds ready for war."

Both turned to the voice and gasped.

Fiddleford McGucket stood there; his hair cut and combed, tweed suit old yet clean, a fresh bandage on his freshly shaven chin and glasses that had none seen the light of day in years on his face. He looked _good_. In one hand he held a small tool box, the other- it pale and skinny from being in a cast- he brought up to his chest. A sign of his nervousness.

"Are you just going to stare?"

"Holy frijole dude." Was Soos's eloquent response.

"What? No good?"

Stan snapped out of his staring and cleared his throat.

"No, No. I _mean_ you look great-_fine_. You look fine. It's just a surprise. A nice one. UH- come on. Let's go."

Stan opened the door and let the smaller man in, before following Stan directed to his attention to Soos, who was staring at Fiddleford through the window.

"Not a word of this to the kids Soos. I mean it."

"Alright Mr. Pines. I hope you know what you're doing."

"Me too."

Stan closed the door and walked into the house.


	2. And Things Change

A thanks to CrispyStar and shootingstarrod of tumblr, who helped/are helping me with details.

Remember: "Talking", 'Thinking', _Emphasis/dreams/whispers/etc._ 8888888= simultaneous scene page break, 8888888888888888888= long time apart/complete page break, cuz I feel awkward just changing the scenes with no cues at all.

Anyway, Enjoy!

Two- And things change.

Fiddleford looked around the interior of the cabin, he had never been properly inside since its change into the Mystery Shack. It was odd seeing the once cozy and smartly decorated front room now a tourist trap full of overpriced memorabilia and obviously fake creatures/ attractions.

He felt an odd bit of loneliness well up inside him, but quickly dismissed it.

He looked over when he heard Stan enter and clap his hands, his lips quirked up slightly into a grin.

"Okay. Let's get this party started."

They headed over to the old vending machine and soon were going down the old and familiar steps of the underground lab. Fiddleford could not hold in a gasp when he saw the reconstructed portal machine.

"She's a beaut isn't she? Took me a lot of years and trespassing to get all the parts!" Said Stan proudly.

He watched as Fiddleford gazed up at the portal and began inspecting it. Opening panels and walking around and behind to check all of the connections and cables. Obviously only half hearing him as his mind immediately began making calculations and the like.

Stan spoke anyway, puffing out his chest in pride as he went on.

"Yup. Spent some jail time for this stuff too. I can't go back to a lot of places. And this was even without the whole schematic for most of the time. I had to work off Stanley's first journal and a bunch of extra notes the two of you wrote and left around. I tell you-"

"MOTHER OF MERCY. STANFORD PINES WHAT IN THE EVER LOVING FUCK DID YOU DO TO THIS MACHINE?!"

It seemed that he was getting yelled at a lot lately.

Stan stopped his posturing and looked at a TREMBLING Fiddleford. The smaller man had dropped the tool box and was gazing at the machine in unfathomable horror, he ran his left hand through his hair and was practically squeezing his right/weak hand to his chest.

Stan was at his side in an instant, arms out to wrap protectively but unsure if he should or not. Fiddleford turned to him and Stan settled for letting them drop.

"STANFORD DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE HERE?!" Fiddleford asked, raising his hands in the air as he did so.

Stanford blinked and leaned back ward on his heels, his mouth a slight frown.

"Uh..?"

Fiddleford gipped the bridge of his nose and tried to take calming breaths. His losing it would not help matters. After taking a few moments Fiddleford looked up as the confused man.

"Stanford, you're telling me that the mechanism in its current state did in fact turn on?"

Stan tensed at the tightness in Fiddleford's voice but did not back away as he answered. "Yeah. But it's not very stable-"

"That is an understatement!" Interrupted FIddleford. The smaller man walked away and started to pace in front of the machine.

"Stanford do you realize that you are _astronomically_ lucky?"

"I am?" Stan walked over, unsure.

Fiddleford stopped walking and looked over at him, still trying to control his breathing. He pointed dramatically at the portal.

"Stanford, not only is it terrifyingly incredible you managed to piece this _monstrous thing_ together as you have but it is also mind-boggling that you even managed to turn it on in its current state and it not destroy itself!"

"What? Hey! I may not be a nerd like you or Stanley but I followed what I had and cross referenced it when I got the other journals." Stan defended himself, he didn't bungle anything!

"The schematic is only half of what you need Stanford! You also need _to know what you are doing_! Don't you realize the statistics you've been playing with?! It is a miracle that you didn't blow a Gravity Falls sized crater in the Earth with this machine! A good amount of the connections and adjustments are wrong in the back."

"What?!" That couldn't be right

"Yes. Come with me." Stan followed Fiddelford over to the machine and he showed him what he had gotten wrong. His eyebrows slowly rose to almost his hairline as he realized that the (cheap) courses he had taken really, really, _really_ hadn't taught him shit. He stared at Fiddleford in his dawning horror and was even more horrified to realize he was listening less and less to what the smaller man was saying and was using his attention more on studying how he looked.

His one gold tooth would shine every so often in the light.

Watching Fiddleford explain his stuff reminded Stan of happier times. It reminded him of Stanley.

"…and not to mention had this particular apparatus been calibrated just 0.3 degrees more the combination of settings would have resulted in the creation of a black hole upon activation and- Stanford! Are you listening to me?!"

Fiddleford was giving him a you-did-not-just-drift-off-on-me-you-moron look and Stan quickly gave his mind a left hook to focus.

He put on a smile and said "Yeah, yeah. I totally could have killed everyone. But now you're here! And we can get this thing working! The Mystery Trio is back in business!"

Fiddleford ran a hand over his face and gave a sigh. He still did not think that nickname was very clever.

'Being a crazed hobo wasn't nearly as stressful' he thought ruefully.

"Right. Alright Stanford, you know what to do. Disconnect the main power feed to the machine and turn on the radio to something noteworthy."

He couldn't really work in silence.

Stanford blinked at Fiddleford's change in attitude, and was slightly aroused.

Hiding it he pretend groused "Hey! Who made you the boss?"

Fiddleford turned to him as he picked up the tool box and said "I did. I'm the only _nerd_ left so that makes me the boss of the only _moron_ left: you. Now hop to it."

Stan made a show of scoffing before going to do as bid; frankly he was just happy to have his old Fidds back. And soon he might have his brother back too.

Fiddleford grabbed a stool and set himself up to get to work. He paused a moment, he was missing something…

'I need a notebook.' He thought, he needed to write down the adjustments he made and write down his calculations. He could remember it all but it was convenient to have it all right in front of him. Not to mention he didn't know if his return to sanity was temporary or not, Fiddleford had yet to tell Stanford of his suspicions that Bill might once again have a hand in the shift in his mental state and wasn't sure if he should.

The less that was thought of the demonic Dorito chip the better.

Either way he wanted to leave behind _proper_ notes for Stan to read and follow for the worst case scenarios: him dying or going back to a crazed mad scientist.

Fiddleford walked about the lab looking for a spare pen and stationary. He found the pen just as Stan turned off the power feed; he couldn't help a small chuckle at the other's rather whiny complaint of static shock.

He continued on looking for a note book or a note pad and eventually made it to the desk set up next to the machine. He recognized it as the one he had claimed many years ago. He looked over the items Stan had scattered across its surface and sucked in a breath when his eyes fell on one particular item.

He lightly ran his fingers over the scarf and quickly blinked back tears. He noted how it was placed with Stanley's glasses and a picture of Mabel and Dipper. He traced these items as well, determined to remember them.

He didn't notice Stan watching him do this.

It was time he stopped running. It was time he stopped regretting.

He could do this. He WOULD do this. For the twins. And himself.

With determination Fiddleford scouted through the drawers and soon found an old journal, a small black one with what appeared to be a llama on the front. It had been one of Stanley's rejected ideas for his own journals. He had to admit it was a pretty ridiculous design for a journal on paranormal phenomenon- but that's what happens when you go scouting for stationary at the local 4-H club.

What was it doing in his desk…?

Anyway,

It was good enough for his purposes. By the time Fiddleford had sat back on his stool Stan was shifting through music stations; for a few fleeting moments the old lab was filled with the sounds of opera, then static, then static-y mariachi music, followed by weather reports, country, new age music that sounded just ghastly, new age music that sounded somewhat alright, incoherent screaming, and then finally some music he knew.

Finally, with a triumphant "Aha!" Stan stopped at a station and set the volume level, the music filled the room.

_Hello Darkness my old friend. I've come to speak with you again. _

It was terribly apt. He could almost hear something laughing at him. Probably was.

Lord give him strength.

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Stan heaved a tired sigh as he gave his head a scratch. Pink Floyd was playing on the radio and Fiddleford was currently pounding his head on a counter, he had been working for hours and was stuck on a particular calculation. He had solved it before but the answer was lost in the murk of his still loading memory.

Fiddleford gave his head a final smack and just slumped himself on the desk. He had taken off his jacket and had rolled up his shirt sleeves, if one were to look they could tell the difference between his two arms easily. His left hand looked relatively normal, if old and calloused; but his right was so much slimmer and paler, so pale that his rarely seen birthmark was vibrant in contrast. It was a small thing that reached from below the elbow to almost his wrist, the shape of the constellation Orion. Like some naturally made tattoo.

Stan traced the lines of the birthmark with his eyes and looked at the hand it was attached to, he had noticed FIddleford had trouble moving that hand and he could see now that the bony fingers were twitching. A sign of his anxious calculations or…?

Fiddleford looked up at Stan when he turned off the music, his slightly delirious train of thought broken off. You could practically see the silent question on his face. Stan gave a small smile to his friend.

"I think I've squeezed enough nerd out of you for today, the kids should be coming back soon. How about a late lunch?"

A slow smile crossed the smaller man's face. "Sounds good."

Fiddleford picked up his things and soon enough the two older men were out of the lab and made their way to the kitchen. Stan quickly sat Fiddleford in a seat and set about making some sandwiches for the two of them. Fiddleford didn't argue, sanity was a surprisingly tiring thing. He watched sedately as Stan puttered about the house and waved off his handy man for the day.

Soon enough both were two sandwiches and several beers in and trying not to choke as they laughed about the old days. They had moved to the living room, Fiddleford on the plush yellow chair and Stan on the giant skull. He hadn't let Fiddleford sit there.

Taking a swig from a brown bottle Stan said, "No. No. Remember when we ran into that swarm of giant blood drinking _moths_?! Oh man. Stanley went on and on about how 'wondrous' and 'fascinating' it was, at least until one landed on your shoulder and tried to stick a tube in your neck!"

Fiddlford shivered, "Oh, don't remind me of that! Stupid thing almost got my jugular!"

Stan continued to laugh as Fiddleford cringed. The smaller man scoffed and then suddenly grinned.

"You shouldn't laugh, remember the time we discovered those pixies? They loved the cologne you were wearing so much they just kept rubbing themselves on you and one got stuck up your nose! I still don't understand how that happened!"

Now Fiddleford was the one laughing. After a moment Stan joined him, still laughing he added

"Yeah, and when I finally yanked him out he took a couple nose hairs with him! Ugh, I could never wear it again after that!"

"(Chuckle) Good thing! It was an obnoxious smell and you used to drench yourself in it! I liked your natural smell much more."

"Really now?" Now Stan was grinning and raising a brow as he leaned over the armrest and Fiddleford felt his cheeks redden as he pressed back against the chair.

"Uh, yes." He hid his embarrassment by downing the rest of his beer.

"About time you told me nerd, would have stopped if I had known the ol' musk was enough."

"Wha-really?"

"Well…yeah."

The two stared at one another, surprised by their mutual honesty. The moment was broken by the sounds of slowly approaching teen music, decent teen music.

_"The kids!"_ They said in unified realization. They couldn't know.

With great speed dishes and beer bottles were cleared and either thrown in the sink or under it to be thrown away later. For a moment Fiddleford didn't-quite-but-totally panicked, he couldn't leave for he'd be seen and he could hear Dipper and Mabel saying their goodbyes to Wendy and co. He started rushing through the maze of a house, feeling trapped, but then Stan was pulling him along back to the living room and shoving him into a closet.

Fiddleford couldn't help his deadpan expression once he was fitted inside. It was a broom closet to top it off.

"Really Stan, a closet? This is a little r-mph!"

A hand grasped his chin as Stan silenced Fiddleford with his lips, his tongue took quick advantage of the smaller man's open mouth and explored; Fiddleford couldn't stop the following whimper. All too soon it was over and Stan was winking and saying a soft "Sorry Fidds." And then the door closed.

And he was left speechless in the closet. The old curator felt his cheeks flame.

'Stanford I'm going to kill you.' He was too old for this.

Fiddleford listened as Stan greeted the kids cheerfully in the giftshop.

"Hey Grunkle Stan! How was your 'day off'?" Mabel's energetic voice sounded as if she were standing right next to him instead of Stanford.

"It was fine. Did boring, old man things. So! How was- uh- where'd you go again?"

Fiddleford leaned in closer to the door to listen but his elbow bumped into a broom which he then had to catch.

"-and then we did boring teenager things." Dipper answered.

"No paranormal?" Asked Stan.

The children's denials and the following conversation were drowned out by a mop that no longer had a broom to support it and its sudden decision to do a trust fall on to Fiddleford who had to catch that as well as a bottle of cleanser that he had knocked over from a high shelf during his quiet struggles.

Finally Fiddleford managed to settle everything in his arms, just in time to hear Dipper ask,

"Hey Grunkle Stan. Whose jacket is this?"

Mother of Mercy.

He'd left his coat on the counter and his notebook was in the pocket. His notebook with a ridiculous picture of an alpaca on it and filled with his calculations and some scattered thoughts.

He couldn't take it.

Stan felt sweat drip down the side of his face.

"Oh that! That's uh-"

BANG-SMASH-THUD

All three rushed toward the sounds and arrived just in time to watch the closet door suddenly smash open and a formerly crazed hobo fall out of it.

He really was too old for this.

Mabel was on him in an instant.

"Mr. McGucket!? Are you alright?"

Fiddleford groaned as the young girl lifted the cleaning implements off of him and gave her a weak smile.

"I've been better."

"Aw Fidds. Anything hurt?" Stan's voice held an unusual amount of concern and both twins watched as he carefully helped the smaller man up.

"No, no thanks to _you_ mister." Came his slightly sour reply. Stan couldn't help an embarrassed grin.

Dipper flicked his eyes from the scene to his sister and saw her creepy "shipping" (as she had called it) smile again. He fought the urge to blush. Turning his attention back to the older men he asked, eyes narrowed,

"What were you doing in there? And what happened? You've…changed." He looked like how he did in in the video.

"Dipper's right. You have this professor/ librarian thing going on. I like it!"

As much as that comment embarrassed him her smile was too sweet to begrudge it.

"Thank you dear."

"And I know Grunkle Stan likes it too!"

Fiddleford saw Mabel's grin turn sly and despite himself felt a blush rise to his cheeks even as he tried to figure out what to tell children who were too perceptive. Stan just sputtered next to him, completely of no help at all.

A look of realization flashed across Dipper's face.

"Does this mean you have your memory back?"

Shit.

"Ah-no. Not all of it, anyway. I remember enough to be myself but-ah I'm still not all there. I came here to see Stanford because we used to be close and then I hid in the closet because uh- I panicked when I heard you come in. Still not used to seeing people as I am and all that. Stanford was just trying to play along."

He gave a smile and hoped that the inquisitive boy bought it. Dipper looked first at him and then at an agreeing Stan for a moment, then he smiled and said "Well, alright. Hey, maybe we can help you remember?"

His face just lit up with his idea.

"Yeah! We can help those brains of yours!" Mabel raised her arms in her own enthusiasm and Fiddleford couldn't help a smile at the two of them. Both of them looked genuinely excited about "helping" him.

His smile faltered a bit when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, it was Stan taking charge of the situation.

"That's actually not a bad idea. _How about it Fidds?_ You come over whenever and we could have some nice, long chats." Stan gave a grin and the kids cheered and Fiddleford was not amazed at all that he managed to smooth over the moment.

"Yes! Yes! I'm going to make some Mabel Juice to celebrate!"

The young girl ran out of the room toward the kitchen.

"Mabel no!" Her brother ran after her, incensed she not make the concoction. Just as he turned the corner Mabel pinned him against the wall and clamped a hand over his mouth.

_"Shhhh. Just listen and look."_ She whispered, face oddly serious, as she directed him to discreetly look around the corner.

Stan was still laughing at their antics, "I love these kids!"

Fiddleford couldn't help a chuckle himself, "Yes. They're quite the treasure."

Stan turned to Fiddleford and realized he had yet to remove his arm, having instead just settled it around the smaller man. The two of them had literally been half cuddling in front of the kids.

And still were.

Fiddleford realized this as well and the two gave some awkward laughs, though didn't move away.

_"I'm going to make some dinner. Keep an eye on them and don't let him leave_." Was the next soft whisper in Dipper's ear; his sister was a mastermind.

With all the grace and enthusiasm of a sprite Mabel made her way to the kitchen, in full matchmaker mode. Dipper shook his head at her antics but he had to agree, this situation only had pros. He took a breath and then put on a smile, determined to play his part well.

He walked out and said, "Okay, I got her to not make it. But now she's planning on making dinner and I-well she can cook real food."

Stan nodded his head and then turned to Fiddleford, "Girl doesn't always cook but when she does, man. Makes a mean lasagna, can't even tell there's no meat in it."

Fiddleford shook his head in disbelief. "Is carbs all you eat?!"

"Hey, there's vegetables in it. Plus who cares about "healthy" eating? I'm old!"

Fiddleford huffed. "You're a terrible influence Stanford."

"You bet!"

The two turned to Dipper when they heard him laugh softly and he gave them an odd grin.

Stan's arm was_ still_ around FIddleford, who had settled more into the embrace and placed his hands on the other's chest.

Lord.

"Mr. McGucket would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Oh, well I-"

"Would you like to stay forever?!"

Mabel had popped her head into the room, a knife in one hand and a red splatter stain on her chin and on the chest of the apron covering her bright sweater.

Both Dipper and Stan slapped a hand to their faces.

"Dinner's fine." Came Fidleford's breathless reply.

With a giggle the girl disappeared back in the kitchen.

Dipper gave an awkward laugh.

Fiddleford ended up having a nice time with the Pines family that night. Mabel did indeed make a delicious lasagna and he didn't believe it was vegetarian. She was a bright if odd girl, both she and her brother made him feel very welcome.

He ended up having a moment with Dipper early on, he had forgotten to roll down his shirt sleeves and the boy had noticed his birthmark. His excited and innocent interest kept the older man from shying away and Fiddleford eventually learned of (and saw) Dipper's own birthmark. Small world.

Soon enough it was late and it was time FIddleford left. He still had one more person to visit. With a promise to see them all tomorrow he walked out of the Mystery Shack.

Stan stopped him on the porch, oddly awkward. "Your uh-you gonna go back to the-uh-"

"To the dump?" Fiddleford raised a brow and smiled at him.

"Maybe. We'll see. Don't worry about it."

"But-"

"_Good night_ Stanford. Good night kids."

"Night Mr. McGucket."

"Night Grunkle Fiddleford!"

_"Mabel!" _

Yes, this would be fun.

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The night was quiet and calm, and Ranger Galen McGucket both appreciated and resented it. Complaints of suspicious activity near and at the lake in recent weeks had caused his superior to set up graveyard shifts, and he was in need of some extra cash. So here he was. Bored as balls.

He put down the book he had with him, momentarily done with it. After a pause he opened a drawer and pulled out an old, battered rubix cube. This particular version had the plastic squares painted, and it was chipping off in many places.

His father had given it to him when he was just a child, telling him an idle mind was a wasted mind.

Ranger McGucket turned the puzzle slowly, he had solved the thing many times and was doing it more for the action than with an actual goal.

"Oh Dad…"

"Yes?"

He hadn't even heard him come in. Rising so fast out of his seat he toppled it over Ranger McGucket looked over to see FIddleford McGucket. Tweed jacket, combed hair, shaven and sane. _Sane._

Wordlessly the younger man walked over to the older, hardly believing. Equally silently the older man held out his hands in invitation. They embraced.

Unaware an all seeing eye watched from the cover of a book.


	3. Maya Enigma

*Counts her Stanley Bucks* There's a scene in here that is all shootingstarrod's fault. LOL, though maybe not as X-rated as wanted.

Please enjoy and tell me what you think! :D

Three- Maya Enigma

_He was there, he was at his desk. Young and full of foolish hope and curiosity. Stanley was talking about something. Going on and on. But he wasn't really hearing him, just listening to the excitement in his voice and letting it be pleasant background noise to his quickening thoughts. Fiddleford's mind was elsewhere, covered in blue flames of new thought. He almost had all of it. The equation that would make the whole damn machine work. Almost…_

_Darkness. The lab was gone. Stanley was gone. The equation was gone. He was gone._

_Only fear and loneliness remained. _

_Then stars. Surrounding his point of view. Vast, sprawling nebulae he didn't recognize in a plethora of colors and forms encircled him. Shapes began to appear around him, silhouettes with outlines of fire and light, of stardust and nightmares, of dreams and delirium and much more. _

_So many eyes. _

_Then voices. So many voices. Whispering and whispering. Yet growing louder, and soon were ear splitting. Every time seeming to speak a different language. Until finally he could understand the noises they were making. And then he wished he didn't. _

_Hunter of knowledge, _

_Haunted by regret, _

_Hunted by things _

_He'd rather forget._

_Hunter of the Lost,_

_Haunted by the Eye,_

_Realize the cost,_

_Before thy End is nigh. _

_They kept repeating and repeating. Over and over. They were surrounding him. _

_Then suddenly a shape on the horizon. He could see the barest of outlines. He could see the arms reaching for him._

_A monstrous eye with black sclera and a white pupil looked upon him and then suddenly shrank, the horrible outline around it shrinking and erasing until it took that of a triangle, with the tip pointed downward. Dark blue filled in the shape around the eye as the chanting grew softer, but didn't dissipate. The figure was outlined with an aura of black and blue and bright white limbs popped out and rolled around before settling, dainty legs not connected to the body proper crossed and gave the impression that the figure was sitting. An iridescent fan appeared in the hand of the being and it made a show of fanning itself delicately before "noticing" the watching, captive soul. Then it began to laugh, it was a rich noble woman's laugh, filled with the order and chaos of eternity. _

_"Hello my adorable beast of burden. Please be a dear and tell my **precious** brother that I am returning, won't you?"_

_There was a pause and then the eye curved upward, as if in immense amusement. Probably at the fact that he had no body to speak of at the moment, or anyway to communicate or get away._

_"Thank you! Such a good boy! Greetings Brother mine! It's been **eons**!"_

_His vision was swiveled around and suddenly Bill was before him. Confusion ran through him as the demon flicked his eye between him and the blue dream demon. He did not look happy._

_The blue stranger laughed again._

_"I hear you go by "Bill Cipher" now, correct?" _

_"Yes."_

_"Well, then you may call me Maya! Maya Enigma. Like it?" The female practically gushed, full of bubbly malice. _

_Bill simply floated nearer, his eye glaring._

_"Really Bill. You didn't think I wouldn't try to have a finger in this little pie too? I may not have the strongest grip from this place but your interference has helped this one be more…pliable? He was like a point of light in the darkness."_

_Bill's eye narrowed._

_"You aren't going to win, Maya. This plane-and that mortal-is **mine**."_

_"We'll see about that."_

_The two stared at one another silently for a moment, the only sound being the chanting that was still being said by the surrounding figures. Bill gave an annoyed growl._

_"Ugh you and your entourage! **Shut up**!" With quick motion the small yellow demon summoned some blue flame and shot it around him. Chaos broke out, the circle broke and suddenly Fiddleford was falling. Falling through stars and space and he. Still. Could. Not. Scream._

_Bill swooped down and grabbed him, he did a turn and Fiddleford caught a glimpse of the blue demon female watching as the two of them hurled away _

_Suddenly Bill's visage filled his line of vision, "Jumpin' Jahossafat that was close! Time is of the essence McGucket. Get your boyfriend and finish the machine!"_

_Bill then let go and Fiddleford was flung right into the heart of a bright yellow sun. He found his tongue and started screaming._

Fiddleford McGucket opened his eyes and clamped a hand over his mouth to help hold in any noise. Fortunately his vocal cords were so frozen in fear only the barest of squeaks escaped. Afterward he sat on his bed, trying to blink back tears as he took in deep breathes, still trying to make as little noise as possible.

It was a good week since his first day as himself, when he had spent a nice evening with the Pines family and had gone to see his son; after a talk that had lasted well into the early morning they had reconciled. With a promise to see a psychologist in one of the bigger surrounding cities soon Fiddleford had gotten an invitation to stay with his offspring, and that was where he was now.

He currently sat upon his son's pull-out couch in the living room of his small home. When he had first settled in Galen had talked on and on about how he would remake the room he used as a library into a bedroom for his father- despite Fiddleford's own protests. Not wanting to be a bother.

But every day the young man would move that bit more around and simply sit his father down if he tried to help. Fiddleford had nearly cried on his second day there, it was during dinner that his son, with a triumphant grin, presented to his father a wallet made of well-made black leather. He opened it and right there were a number of up to date credit cards, bank cards and identification- though the picture was of him in '82.

The younger McGucket had explained that he knew someone and had made sure to keep his father's information and credentials ready for him, and then he apologized for giving up on him several months ago.

Okay, he might have cried a little then.

The last few days had felt like nothing but a blessing. He belonged again. He could _think_ again. He had Stan again. And if he did things right for once he might get Stanley back too. He had made some progress on the portal machine, but that one equation was still stumping him. And he could make no further progress until he had it completed.

But that dream! No. Not a dream. A _visitation_. From Bill. _And his sister_. Fiddleford shook his head in disbelief.

What in the ever loving fuck was he in the middle of?

His suspicions had been confirmed. He was nothing more than chess piece, an expendable pawn. In what, for all tense and purposes, was a family squabble.

He grabbed his notebook and opened to the page with the equation again, the blank space seemed to mock him. He flipped to a few pages over and with a trembling hand Fiddleford drew what he could remember of his dream, he wrote down the words chanted to him. It was only after he had written them did he realize he had not written them in English, but in symbol language.

He needed a drink.

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"Grunkle Fiddleford isn't here yet. Wonder what's keeping him."

Dipper looked over at his sister, she laid on the living floor with Waddles. The pig was currently taking a nap next to her as she concentrated on drinking some soda out of the can using three connected bendy straws. Dipper himself was slumped on the yellow chair, flipping channels and just trying to relax during the slow business day.

The last week had been rather eventful. In addition to his and Mabel's usual misadventures there was also his home life. He had tried several times to try and jog the memory of one Fiddleford H. McGucket, but to no avail. It seemed he had repressed the memories of his time with the Author of the Journals, or they had simply become out of reach.

And anytime it seemed like he would get anywhere his Grunkle Stan would appear and lead the smaller man away. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for hours. And he could never find them again. As frustrating as it was, it was nice to see them together. Both twins agreed, their Grunkle was happier than they had ever seen him. His smiles were truer, he hung around the house in his underpants a little less often; they had caught him just staring at the former hobo when he wasn't looking several times.

He looked at Fiddleford the way their father looked at their mother when she wasn't paying attention. Dipper found himself wondering what happened between them, but didn't think he should ask. At least not for now.

Mabel felt the complete opposite, and constantly pestered both of the older men for details. Even with her best efforts though, only a few bits and pieces had been gathered. And had gotten him thinking about things that just made his cheeks flame, his insides squirm and his paranoia flare.

So he tried to let it be.

Either way, it was fun to call him "Grunkle" and watch him and Stan squirm.

"I dunno, is Stan still "inspecting" the gift shop and waiting for him?"

With a small grunt Mabel got up and took a look, after a moment she returned and said, "No. Now he's on the porch talking with Soos and smoking."

"Again?"

Stan had finished at least a quarter of a pack by now.

"Yup. I mean he is kinda late, Grunkle Fidds's usually here in the morning."

It was true, it was already early afternoon and still the old curator had not come by, everyday he had come by the Shack and last night he had promised to return once more in the early morning.

And yet he hadn't come. Wendy had already left for the day, even. And he had wanted to talk with her some more about Manly Dan and others of the town.

"Do you think something happened to him?"

The two youngsters looked at one another, identical thoughtful frowns on their faces. But then a commotion outside caught their attention. They peeked their heads through the curtain just in time to see Soos walk in, a deep frown on his face.

"Psst. Soos! What's happening?" Mabel called softly.

Soos walked over to them, frown deepening.

"Mr. McGucket's here but…it looks like the dude's had a rough day." He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.

Fearing the worst Dipper and Mabel quickly snuck their way to the window and peeked over. Soos following- if reluctantly- close behind.

Stan was staring at Fiddleford in disbelief, while the other continued to try and make his way forward.

He was drunk.

Stinking drunk.

Stan couldn't believe it. Yes, back in the day Fiddleford could throw them back like a champ, he had done so many a time with him and his brother. The man had even almost been the winner in a face off against the Manotaurs, but he also knew when to be sober.

Something was terribly wrong, and Stan didn't know whether to be angrier at himself or at Fiddleford for the fact that the man preferred to try and find solace at the bottom of a fucking jug of moonshine than in him.

And it was obvious he hadn't found it, despite his trouble. With a slight trip Fiddleford got up the porch steps and looked at Stan with large half crazed eyes full of fear. Tears had obviously fallen from them earlier and both of the small man's hands were shaking and looked terribly pale, they barely looked strong enough to hold the bottle he still had with him, a quarter full and obviously the only sustenance he'd had all day.

Slowly Stan approached and placed his hands on the other's shoulders.

"Fidds- aw Fidds. What did you do? What happened?"

The other looked at him through the bangs of his disheveled hair, shame in his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry St-stanferd. I-I just couldn't take it! I-kept a-seeing-and seeing. And-and I-"' His words dissolved into local colloquialisms and gibberish and more hot, desperate tears leaked from his eyes.

Stan stared at him, momentarily at a loss. Fiddleford saw this and felt more shame and some self-hatred. He should never have come here, especially since there were children. Nice children that he liked and wished to try to protect. He should have gone back to the dump and slept this moment of weakness off.

Maybe he really did need to seek some professional help?

He tried to leave, but the moment he tried to move Stan tightened his grip.

"Oh no you don't."

Suddenly the bottle was taken from Fiddleford's shaky hands, a moment later he was being lifted and hoisted over a shoulder. He now had a lovely view of Stan's back, ass and feet. And the moving ground.

"H-hey! Put me down! Dag-nabbit, I am not a sack of tatters to throw over yer shoulder!"

His cry was ignored as he was carried into the Mystery Shack.

"Kids, Fidds here isn't having a great day. He and I will be upstairs. Soos you can lock up and go home, it's a poor day fer customers anyway."

Stan's voice was gruff and resolute. No one argued.

With speed Stan made his way through the house and into his room, after making sure his door was closed he threw off his cane and beloved fez and walked into the miniscule bathroom he had to himself. Stan plopped his struggling burden into the shower. After taking glasses and notebook and setting them aside he turned on the water, full blast.

First cold.

Then hot.

Then cold.

And finally hot again.

"Ahhhh! Stanford that is enough! Will you shut that _off_?!"

Stan turned off the water and watched as a roused Fiddleford slumped his way out, sending a death glare his way as he leaned against the wall. He ran a hand through his soaking hair and shifted in his now uncomfortable and dripping clothes.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, nerd. Mind telling me what the fuck all of that was about?"

"No."

"_No?_" He raised a brow.

"No." Fiddleford straightened and tried to move his way past Stan, forgoing his glasses and his notes in favor of just leaving. But the other was having none of it. Stan barred his way.

With a good amount of alcohol still flooding his veins Fiddleford tried again to get past but this time Stan manhandled his against the closed door. Stan took a slim wrist in each of his large hands and propped them up against the door, effectively trapping the smaller man.

"L-let go Stanford." He said with annoyance, frustration and some left over shame.

"Not happening Fidds. Not now, and not ever again. Now, are you going to stop struggling and tell me _what happened_?"

"No." Fiddleford continued to struggle.

"Why not?"

"I don't have to explain myself!" He gave a large push and fell back against the door huffing, his meager energy sapped.

Stan watched this but didn't loosen his grip. "Bullshit. Now, again, what's got you so worked up you tried to drown yourself in hillbilly fire water? Huh? I thought you were done running?"

"I-I-"He stuttered, he could feel the tears return and he hated himself for it. His nerves were shot. His knees weak.

"I can't help if you don't tell me!" Stanford was barely a few inches away. His breath hot on his face and potent with the smell of nicotine.

"_I-I can't tell you_." Fiddleford nearly moaned and mostly whined.

"Why not?"

"I'll put you in danger."

"Bullshit again _Einstein_. I'm already in danger. You said so yourself, I could've blown everyone sky high a long time ago. Not to mention all of the stuff lurking not fifty feet from here."

Weakly, "It'll put you in _more_ danger and I can't-can't-"

"Dammit, don't you get that we're a _team_?!" Stan got right in Fiddleford's face, forcing direct eye contact.

Still as intently but more gently he said "You and me. We-we need each other. I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner, but I'm making up for it. Fidds, I need you to tell me what made you get so worked up. Now."

Fiddlford stared at him, and then the tears slowly welled up from his eyes and he began to quietly sob. Stan immediately changed tactics and brought the other to his chest, he wrapped one arm around Fiddleford's waist and brought up his other hand to start running soothing circles up and down his back.

The smaller man buried his face into Stan's chest and found solace in his arms, just like how he had wanted to do for decades.

After a few minutes Fiddleford managed to get a hold of himself and stood there sniffling and rubbing his eyes. Stan kept him close, grip firm.

"You good?"

"Yes. Apologies."

"Yeah, yeah. Come on."

Stan led Fiddleford out of the bathroom and they stood in the middle of his bedroom. He handed the other the glasses he had taken from him. Fiddleford put them on and gave an embarrassed laugh.

"I'm a mess."

"So am I, what with that after shower cuddle."

Fiddleford looked over and saw that the smirking con man's clothes were now as wet as his own in the front. He then realized he was slowly making a puddle on the floor as well. He immediately stepped away, nearly tripped on the way and didn't appreciate the laughter he got.

"Stanford this isn't funny! We could get sick!"

"It's summer."

"And we're old. But that's beside the point. We should not be just standing about in these clothes while in your room."

Immediately he began to strip, completely missing Stan's face at his unintentional phrase. First he shrugged out of his drenched coat, then soaking sweater. Next came off his damp tie and wet shirt. And finally his wife-beater. When he reached for his belt a pair of hands beat him there; heat immediately began accumulating at his face.

Stan's bare chest rested against Fiddleford's damp back and his nose buried itself into the other's wet hair.

"I got it nerd." The words were growled into his ear and Fiddleford felt a tingle go down his spine and right to his groin. His pants were unbuckled and he let out a small yelp when Stan started to do something that was definitely not helping him to undress.

"St-stanford. Don't-do-oh right _there_." His voice hit a high note it hadn't reached in years.

Stan grinned, he still had it. Fiddleford moaned softly and wiggled about in response to Stan's pleasuring hands. Stan pressed their hips together to tell him exactly what all his squirming was doing for him. The smaller man immediately doubled his efforts while Stan gave a laugh. Soon enough they were back on the bed, stark naked and rolling around on it like a pair of newly-weds.

Or trying to, anyway. They weren't young anymore, bodies once toned and lanky were now pudgy and gangly with creaky bones. Hot mouths were now full with slipping dentures or missing some teeth. But their bodies remembered the old rhythm, and were all the more helped by Fiddleford still being damp from his unwanted shower.

Fiddleford keened when he felt Stan's hot length on his thigh and bucked his hips. Stan went about reclaiming old territory by sucking and biting on Fiddleford's tender neck as he grinded back in return.

The smaller man hung on to his partner for dear life and let himself give into the spontaneous bliss. A thousand promises and apologies were said into his ear by lips that knew just how to suck ear lobes and find sensitive patches of skin. In return his fingers danced along surprisingly rippled muscles and he let them find their old places, the kind that when handled the right way they awakened a hunger in Stan he was eager to sate.

Before Fiddleford knew it, lube was out and he was leaving deep scratches in Stan's back. He pressed his face into Stan's shoulder and let his brain take a smoke and coffee break.

When it returned he was lying on Stan's chest and wrapped in his arms. He shifted and Stan looked over at him, a shit eating grin on his face. Fiddleford felt his face redden and he groaned. He rubbed a hand through his hair and realized it was mostly dry, he was hungry too.

"We're a mess."

"You say that like it's a bad thing Fidds." Stan said it with a joke in his tone but Fiddleford can't help a frown.

Fiddleford curled in on himself a bit and said "We really shouldn't have Stanford. I-I-"

He felt the grip on his waist tighten by that little bit.

"I meant what I said. I'm not letting go this time. You're stuck with me nerd, I'll left hook anything that tries to get between us. Even you, if just to knock some sense into ya."

Fiddleford looked at Stan's serious expression and let out a breath. Before he knew it words were tumbling out of his mouth, everything he had been bottling up. His (supported) suspicions of Bill pulling the strings on his mental situation. His frustrations about the equation and his fear of the machine.

His dream and how it related to things from thirty years ago. He told him of the blue demon Maya Enigma and Bill's response to her. Stan's surprise was palpable.

"A sister? What?" He didn't know demons could have sisters- or family in general really.

"I know right? It makes about as much sense to me as to you Stanford. Bill wants the machine completed, I don't know how or why but it is integral to his plan. I feel."

As they had spoken they had shifted- Stan's back stung from Fiddleford's love scratches- and he was now lying on his side next to his partner. Stan ran a hand through his thinning hair, his mind whirling with ideas.

Damn.

"We have no choice but to keep going Fidds. I-we're just gonna have to take a gamble because I'm not leaving Stanley in there. _We're_ not leaving him in there. We'll just have to prepare ourselves the best we can."

And maybe he'd get a chance to deck a certain yellow triangle with his knuckle dusters.

Fiddleford bit his lip, unsure. He stared at Stan's determined expression and thought of the options. He thought of Stanley. And what he would have done had it been Stanford or even himself left on the other side.

"Alright Stanford. We'll continue. But I don't know how far we're going to go since I can't solve that damn sequence!" Here Fiddleford flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling, frustrated.

Stanford looked down at him, "Well, what were you doing when you figured it out the first time?"

Fiddleford thought, ignoring the slight rumble from his stomach. He'd have to eat soon or he' be sick, but the hunger gave his tired mind an edge. He didn't notice Stan hear his body's cry of distress.

"I was in the lab, caught by a thought process on how we could even make an active portal that allowed travel through different planes of reality. Stanley was going on and on about the latest creature we had encountered, those wraith like beings that looked as if they were a mix of horse and bat."

"Oh those, didn't they feed off moon light or something?"

"Off the light force of nocturnal wildlife. But yes. He was going on about how their ability to phase through objects and even different types of light might mean they were traveling through dimensions, or at least different "layers" of this reality."

Stan sat up now and crossed his legs, eagerly listening. Fiddleford continued to look up at the ceiling, seeing with his mind's eye instead of his actual ones.

"I wasn't truly listening, concentrating on getting an answer. I grew frustrated though and began to listen to him as a way to give my mind a break, Stanley began talking of how the air seemed to flutter and ripple whenever they disappeared, as if they were stones disturbing the surface of a still pond.

We had observed that they always took a brief running or leaping start before doing this and guessed they needed the added velocity to achieve shifting about. His words triggered a thought in my mind and I began thinking of group velocity in not just the normal three dimensions but in the additional ones of space and time. These thoughts made me think of-"

He stopped and sat up, amazement and realization flashing across his face. He turned to Stan who had a grin on his face, "Your notebook's in the bathroom. On the sink."

In a flash the smaller man was out of the bed and soon the sound of scribbling could be heard. With surprising energy Stan followed, pulling on a shirt and his boxers and picking up a spare pair for Fiddleford along the way. Just as he got to the bathroom the door opened and Fiddleford stepped out with a large grin on his face.

"Stan! I have it! I have it!" He waved the notebook around excitedly and Stan returned his grin.

"Knew you could do it nerd." He handed the smaller man his clothes and he immediately put them on.

When he finished he frowned and gave Stan a look, they both then realized how much bigger Stan's clothes were on the smaller man. The shirt looked like a small dress and the boxers were large enough to just slip off. Stan laughed despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Maybe we should get you some proper underpants first."


	4. Post-coital Happenings

I suck at chapter titles, but i cannot just not name them.

I own nothing except Hector Gonzales, an OC that pops up every so often when I need him.

Please Enjoy!

Four- Post-coital Happenings

Ranger Galen McGucket gave a quiet sigh of contentment as he took a small sip of coffee, things were calm at Lake Gravity Falls. Families played on the beach and there were a few boats out on the water, either full of fishers or just people enjoying the sunshine.

He smiled, thinking of the few times he and his father had done such activities, he'd see if the elder McGucket would be up for it the coming weekend. He had it off so he wanted to try and bond with his father. Maybe talk of the odd dream he apparently had this morning, Galen had gotten up early, as per usual, and as he was leaving he saw that his father was in the throes of some radical nighttime vision.

It didn't seem like a nightmare though, so he let him be. He had a feeling it had to do with Stanford Pines though. Ranger McGucket couldn't help his frown at the thought of the scheming old man, though the owner of the local tourist tap was by far much better than the likes of Gideon Gleeful…

…He still did not like the geezer. And he especially did not like that his father was spending time with him once again. Even if that meant he was spending time with the Pines twins as well, nice children that they were.

Though he had grown up and had lots of time to think and talk it over with his beloved mother, the younger McGucket still blamed the con artist for taking his father away. His memories were hazy- to say the least- of that time, but he knew his father had been around a lot more and had been much more stable before he started spending time at the Mystery Shack.

His mother had given no details, claiming it to be stuff best left to the past. The only time she had ever talked at length of what happened was when he had, at the hot-blooded age of sixteen, raged that Stanford Pines was the reason his father had not loved them like he should have and why he was the way he had become. He had taken all of that care, affection, and _sanity_ all for himself and then thrown it away, leaving his father a shell.

One thing he did remember, as clear as crystal because it had angered him even at that age, was the instance he had caught his father and Stanford Pines kissing.

_It had been late at night and his mother had sent him up to bed, but he wasn't sleepy. He wanted to see his papa come home before going to bed. His sleepy face always made him laugh. He didn't know how long he just sat there on his bed, looking out his window that faced the front of the house. But finally he saw his papa trudging his way home, and Stanford Pines was walking with him. The two were talking, Stan kept getting close but his father would shift shyly away. But not very far. _

_He remembered scrunching up his brows at this odd little dance, they were acting like how his friends did when they were around boys or girls they liked. But that wasn't right- his pap loved only his mother like that._

_ Didn't he? _

_Young McGucket watched as the two got to the doorstep, his father turned to Stan and the two smiled at one another. And then his father was leaning up and suddenly the two men's lips met, he watched, his young eyes as large as saucers, as Stan first stiffened then relaxed and began kissing back. Pressing his father up against the door. _

_He'd thought only married people did that…_

_Eventually the two separated and Stanford Pines disappeared into the night with a triumphant hoot trialing after him. _

Galen had gotten no sleep that night, he had only told his mother of the memory during this confrontation. His mother, with fierce yet calm energy, spoke to him of the true dynamic of their relationship. Though they had loved each other, his father and mother had not truly been together. And in fact his papa was not his true father, but instead one of his cousins was, the one who was serving twenty to life with no chance of parole.

Ranger McGucket hadn't and didn't care about that, Fiddleford H. McGucket was his father and no one else.

She had then detailed how Stanford Pines and his father had found something in each other that was special, and though Fiddleford had come to love this man it did not mean that his love had vanished for them. He had never and would never stop loving them, which is why he had done and did the crazy things he did. And though things had collapsed between them, they still cared for one another. It's just things had gone out of control. She wouldn't elaborate what.

So it was best to let those thoughts go, and just concentrate on being there for the troubled man. For they were all he had left.

She had been right. Though now it seemed his father and the geezer where talking again. At least that's all he hoped it was.

But he still. Did. Not. Like. Stanford. Pines.

But his father was his own person and he had been doing very well lately so-

Ranger McGucket was jogged out of his musings by a tap on his shoulder. He turned to look at his shift partner and friend, Hector Gonzales. The usually cheery man had a troubled frown on his face.

"Someone to see you Galen."

He moved aside and a local resident-read: hillbilly- named Robert approached. The young man shuffled about in his tattered blue overalls and scratched a hand through his mullet before giving a dopey smile that was full of missing teeth. He brought up a right hand that was missing most of a pinky finger, he was holding a black leather wallet.

A familiar black leather wallet.

"Yer ol'man left this after buying some of my new brew. I'm ah man of integerty and ol'man McGucket has been ah valued customer for many ah year, so I had ta come on down and give it back to ya since I dunno where he went after that."

He paused a moment and then frowned before continuing, a look of concern causing his vacant eyes to focus on Ranger McGucket for a moment before fading away and they defocused.

"I know it ain't none o' my business but he seemed troubled, looked as if the Devil himself was after his hide. Left in ah hurry. Either way here ya go."

He handed the stunned park ranger the wallet before giving a small nod and a happy "Y'all have a good day now!" and leaving.

Hector Gonzales turned to look at his fellow ranger, the man simply sat. Still as a stone and a deep frown upon his face. His grip on the wallet so tight his knuckles were turning white.

This wasn't good.

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This wasn't good.

Fiddleford McGucket sat at the Pines dinner table once again, Stan's underwear secured around his waist with a spare bit of rope- he didn't want to know WHY Stan had that in one of his drawers- and a baggy white short-sleeve that kept slipping off his narrow shoulders. His clothes were in the dryer, so he had no choice but to endure having all the little love bites Stan had left on his sensitive neck visible for all to see.

Not that anyone seemed to care, or notice, besides a smug Stanford but it was the principle of the thing. His birthmark was in plain view as well, though that wasn't such a stressor for him anymore. No, the biggest problem was what was before him.

"Just try it." Stan motioned to the food that his handy man, Soos, had so generously made while they had been otherwise occupied. He also sat at the table, sedately eating some of his own food and leaving the older man to figure it out. Everyone was eventually converted by his Abuelita's recipe.

"W-what is it again?" It didn't look bad- he just didn't know if he could stomach it.

"A chimichanga!" Mabel excitedly answered around a bite of the dish.

"It's really good Grunkle Fiddleford. Just try it." Dipper gave a smile and then took another bite that was much more orderly than his sister.

Encouraged, in no small part by the affectionate nickname that still embarrassed him and made Stan grin- Fiddleford took a small bite.

It was delicious. And his hung over body readily accepted the offering.

He quickly proceeded to eat the chimichanga before him, two more after that and was half way through a third- to the amazement and amusement of all- when a knock came to the front door. A loud, rapid knock. With a grunt Stan got up to answer- thankfully he was at least wearing pants- and couldn't help pulling a face when he saw who it was.

Crap.

"Is my father here?" Ranger McGucket asked his question in a way that said he knew the answer, but was still asking to be polite.

"Uh yeah he-"

"Can I talk to him please? I'll wait here."

The young man walked away from the door and took up a stance, showing he intended to simply wait on the porch for his father. Running a hand over his face Stan made his way back to the kitchen, he paused in the doorway a moment to watch as his family sat at the table. Mabel was doing this weird chicken dance and everyone was laughing, Soos suddenly threw in some pigeon noises and they all laughed harder.

Dipper spotted him and grinned, "Hey Grunkle Stan, who was at the door?"

Stanford put on a smile and said casually, "Oh ah, _just a solicitor. Nothing to worry about._ Hey Fidds I think your laundry is done."

It was true, he heard the machine ding, but he hoped that Fiddleford had remembered the old code words. Stanford and Stanley had lived quite the life together, and as any close sibling pair were prone to do they had eventually made up a system of code words or phrases that they could use when unable to speak freely. Eventually they had let Fiddleford in on most of them.

The one he had used meant: shit, someone important/angry/possessed is here. Follow me for details.

Fiddleford blinked and then understanding filled his eyes as he gave an easy smile and said, "Oh good. Help me make sure it's dry, yes?"

He got up and walked out of the room, just as they passed into the hall Mabel called after them,

"No making-out in the laundry room! We don't have enough sanitizer to purify it afterward!"

"Mabel!" Though Dipper scolded his sister he still laughed with her.

Leaving the laughing youngsters behind the pair walked through the house toward the front door. They stopped near it and Fiddleford asked quietly, "What is it Stanford?"

The other turned to him and brought up a hand to rub his neck with. "Your kid's here, he-uh-he doesn't look too happy. I didn't want the kids to know so you could uh-"

He stopped his stammering when Fiddleford leaned up and gave him a sweet peck on the nose. He gave him a reassuring smile.

"It's okay. I'll talk to him. Thank you Stanford." With more confidence than he felt Fiddleford walked over to the front door and opened it. He hoped everything was alright.

When he heard the door open Ranger McGucket turned around and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound would come out. He stared at his father standing before him looking completely sane, barefoot, and in underwear and undershirt very obviously belonging to someone much bigger in size than himself. His miniscule hair was tussled in a telling way and he had an absurd amount of hickeys on his neck and a few on his shoulder.

Fiddled noticed his son's reaction and couldn't help a small blush, he wiggled his toes apprehensively- his shoes were drying on the back porch- and realized maybe he should have put some clothes on. Or at least a robe or something.

Oh well, no going back now.

"Everything alright?" Might as well get the ball rolling somehow.

Ranger McGucket continued to flap his mouth open and closed for a few more seconds before clearing his throat and reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out his father's wallet and held it out in his hand for him to take.

"You left this at Robert's when you bought some of his moonshine." His tone said it all.

With a sign Fiddleford took the wallet and rubbed at his face.

Dammit.

"Look I-I had a bad dream. It _was just a dream_ but-but I'm used to just drowning things out. Bad habits die hard. Stan already told me off about this so-yes."

He finished his lie lamely and looked and his son, shrugging his shoulders.

His son studied him, his eye hidden by his hat, before asking, "So you're seeing him again?"

"Yes. I-I care for him deeply. Look I-I know this is-"

"Look dad, you can do what you want. I understand. Kind of. Just-just next time come find me okay? I want to help you, okay?"

Fiddleford couldn't help a smile, his son was obviously embarrassed but didn't want to admit it. He was relieved everything was alright between them.

"I understand son. I'm sorry. I'll try not to worry you anymore."

"Good. So are you coming home tonight?" The question was said with gruff acceptance.

"Oh! Uh-no. No I won't. Actually." He wanted to get to work finishing the machine, now that he had the equation everything could finally come together.

"Alright." Ranger McGucket took something else from his pocket and lightly tossed it to his father.

The older man managed to catch it and when he looked over he saw his son beginning to leave.

"Key to the house. Be careful okay dad? I'll see you tomorrow. I have to get back to work."

"Thank you Galen." He was amazed at his son's acceptance of the situation. Amazed and relieved.

The park ranger then turned one final time and called out- loud enough for Stan, who had obviously been hiding and listening, to hear-

"If I learn that that geezer isn't treating you well enough things won't be pretty. You hear me?! I'm watching you conman!" He swung his fist a bit and then walked off to his truck.

Fiddleford ran his hand through his sparse hair and felt his cheeks flame.

'Oh geez'. He thought.

His son was on the guard to protect his honor. Mother of Mercy give him strength.

The door opened and Stan stepped out, the two watched the younger McGucket drive away.

"Thinks he's hot stuff." Grunted Stan. Fiddleford just sighed.

When the car was no longer in sight Fiddleford felt arms wrap around him. He turned to look at Stan, who had raised an eyebrow and was grinning saucily at him.

"So you're staying here tonight huh?"

Fiddleford huffed, "Can't you ever be serious? You know why I am."

"True. But there are other benefits of having you around more!"

Stan then proceeded to lay kisses all over his face and neck while holding the smaller man close.

"Wha-Stan!" Fiddleford felt his face flame bright red and tried to wriggle away but couldn't.

Stan gave a mock evil laugh and continued with his onslaught. The visit from the park ranger had reminded him that others cared about his nerd too, and now that it looked like he could be helped they would really try to. And one of those methods could be taking him away from Stan.

'Let them try. I'll give them a left hook and then a right hook for good measure!' He declared to himself.

Despite his tough thoughts, Stan needed to have his nerd close for a bit before things got serious again.

He snaked his hand down and he gave Fiddleford's butt cheek a good squeeze.

"Stanford!" Fiddleford's scandalized tone just egged him on.

"Oh yeah! Say my name again. I want to hear your accent."

He move his hand over a bit and used the looseness of his own boxers on the other to go deep and rub his fingers along the cleft of Fiddleford's ass.

"_St-stanford! For goodness sake, not on the porch!"_

Stan laughed again, "That's right, I'm a jerk!"

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"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn if you approve." The suave character of one Lord Von Gittiken turned his back to the righteous and beautiful Duchess he had pursued throughout the entirety of the film and walked off. Slamming the door behind him. Said Duchess did not shed a tear at his leaving, she watched him go wordlessly before going out onto her balcony and watched the sunset. Waves crashed into the distance and she removed her bonnet before throwing the head wear off camera. Wind blew through her glorious golden hair and made her gorgeous dress billow. She looked radiant.

The old film ended and the credits began to roll.

"Wow, I can't believe they made a sequel." Said Fiddleford, Stan had insisted they just relax for the afternoon and had roped him and the kids into watching the film after Soos left for home.

"I can't believe I liked it." Answered Dipper, voice shocked.

"I'm so making a Duchess sweater." Said Mabel with utter glee next to him.

"Oh yeah, good stuff right? Took me by surprise too, I totally thought he would be the one but he was just a fop."

They all turned to Stan and just stared for a moment, and then laughed together.

"What?"

"Nothing Dear. Nothing." Said Fiddleford.

Mabel's laughter eventually dissolved into a yawn.

"That was a good movie but I think it's time for sleep." Mabel stretched her arms and not so casually hit her brother on the shoulder. He took the hint that it was time to leave them alone.

"Oh, yeah. I'm beat." He'd try and jog his new Grunkle's memory once more tomorrow.

"Seriously? It's only ten." Stan raised a brow, usually they all didn't call it a night until midnight or so.

"Dipper kept me up with his thinking last night." Lied Mabel flawlessly. Dipper had actually fallen right to sleep, for once.

"Hey! I can't help it if the thoughts don't stop." Dipper mock-defended himself as he began to walk towards the stairs.

"Night Grunkle Stan, night Grunkle Fiddleford."

Mabel laughed and turned to the older men as she walked out as well.

"Sure, sure. G'night! Don't keep each other up too late!" She cackled as she left the room.

"Those kids will be the death of me." Said Fiddleford, cheeks reddened.

Stan only laughed.

Soon enough they made their way down to the lab and Fiddleford set himself up. Stan turned on the radio and couldn't help a grin as he blasted the Ghostbusters theme tune. Fiddleford just shook his head at him.

He leaned back against the counter and watched Fiddleford work for a bit before asking,

"Is there any way I can help?" He felt oddly antsy.

"Just stand there and look pretty for now. I'll tell you when I'm in need of you." Answered Fiddleford, obviously occupied, a wrench in one hand and his notebook held open by the other.

Stan found it so hot.

Several miles away one Gideon Gleeful found himself in the clutches of a mad nighttime visitation. He tossed and turned, his body reacting to his mental struggles.

_He ran through a dark and twisting forest, chased by a ghostly voice. _

_"Gideon…Gideon Gleefuuuullllll…" It nearly sang. It sounded like a woman. _

_He picked up his pace when he heard cackling. The haughty laughter never too far behind. He burst through the tree line and would have gone further had there not been a sheer drop right before him, the ground he had been fleeing on suddenly turned into a simple featureless plain for a few feet and then ended. He cautiously approached and looked over the edge. _

_Stars. Just, stars. An endless expanse of space and chaotic order lay before him. He gasped in fear._

_"Lovely isn't it?"_

_He turned and nearly screeched. A blue triangle floated before him, a delicate white hand held a multi-colored fan and a black eye with a white pupil looked down at him. _

_He became aware of chanting in the background, but he could not discern what it said. _

_There was no mouth but he had the feeling that she was outright grinning at his panic. He huffed, trying to regain control of himself. _

_"Who and what are you?!" _

_"My name is Maya Enigma, and I have a proposition for you my dear, sweet star-child." _


	5. Not What It Seems

_Yes, I saw Northwest Mansion Noir!_

_This chapter is dedicated to the whole of the FiddleStan fandom. You all are wonderful and help keep the creative juices flowing! (an idea or two might have snuck in...)_

_Anyway, enjoy and tell me what you think!_

Five- Not What It Seems

Fiddleford McGucket fluttered his eyes open as his consciousness rose from the dark world of sleep, he looked up at the ceiling above him for a moment and wondered where he was. At the same time he spotted a picture of dogs playing poker on the wall he heard a soft yet deep snore right in his ear and realized just where he was and with whom.

He looked over and saw that one Stanford Pines had not changed a bit in terms of closeness and sleeping positions- at least with Fiddleford. Stan's face was half buried in his neck, his body half draped over the smaller man and arms secured around him. Fiddleford was the big spoon.

A big spoon that really needed to pee and have a cup of coffee. He had had another strange dream, but he could hardly remember it, the more he tried to recall it the more it slipped away. He should be grateful, in a way, last thing he needed right now was another dream related "episode".

All that remained were a set of blurry red numbers counting down and an image of himself in his "hobo look" looking scared and fretful. And a voice, a cloying almost familiar tone that gave a lilting laugh and delightedly warned "If you do not hurry this shall be your fate as well…"

He didn't know if it was his mind that made the images or not, but he didn't like it. Not one bit.

He would worry about all of that later though. First things first.

He really needed to drain the lizard.

With a bit of wiggling and a pinch of patience Fiddleford managed to shift Stan around enough to slip from under him without waking him. Or so he thought, Fiddleford had just about left the bed when he felt a surprisingly strong grip on his wrist. Holding back a surprised squeak he readjusted his glasses, he looked over and was met with a raised brow and a slight frown. A silent question sat on Stan's groggy face.

Fiddleford had forgotten how overprotective and alert Stan was when he wanted to be. It had embarrassed him a bit in his younger years but now it made him smile, despite it being slightly frustrating. Fiddleford leaned over-Stan didn't have his glasses on and the smaller man wanted to make sure he could see his expression- and said reassuringly,

"Toilet. Want some coffee?"

"Any dreams?" came the answer, rough with sleep. Stan's grip hadn't loosened.

"No dreams." Came the happy reply. Fiddleford had had one but the last bits and details were already gone and forgotten during the brief conversation. He just knew it hadn't been good, but why make Stan worry?

Stan squinted at him a moment but then nodded his head.

"Sounds good. Go for it, still use the same machine by the way." Stan let go and then snuggled into the bed a bit.

Fiddleford made a soft noise that was halfway between a disbelieving scoff and an unsurprised sigh as he went to the bathroom.

"Of course you would."

Stan just grinned.

After managing to wake himself up a bit and pulling on his own underwear and wife-beater Fiddleford made his way downstairs and couldn't help his giggle at seeing that Stanford had indeed kept the same coffee machine that he, Fiddleford and Stanley had used back in the day. It was well used but also well cared for, he ran a hand over it and remembered all those times he and Stanley had relied on the majestic machine to keep them going.

"We meet again old friend." He said with a half grin as he started to make a fresh pot. As he moved about the kitchen he realized he had never asked Stan where he kept anything, and then couldn't help a small laugh when he saw he didn't need to. Everything was where he remembered it being placed, exactly as he himself had last refilled the kitchen.

It was a testament to how stuck in the past Stanford was. And he himself.

'Well, while I'm feeling nostalgic might as well be productive about it and make an old favorite.' He thought with a wry smile. He searched through the cupboards and made a noise of triumph when he found the appliance he was looking for.

"I hope he has all of the ingredients."

Dipper made a small grunt as he awoke, he sleepily rubbed his eyes and wondered what had woken him. Then he realized, it was a smell. A delicious one. He looked over at Mabel when he heard her wake up and he watched as her eyes widened and she turned her head. They barely spent a moment sharing a look before they were on their way down, racing to see the source of the smell.

They gasped in happy surprise when they saw one FIddleford McGucket setting a plate of waffles in front of a sleepy eyed Stan, who sipped coffee from a mug. He noticed them and grinned.

"Who wants waffles? My father showed me the recipe."

Both twins cheered and settled at the table to partake.

Bill would have almost barfed at the cuteness if he had a mouth-and ate. From his spot outside of the reality of the humans, he watched. Moving about the kitchen and getting all of the interesting angles. He looked over at Stanford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket and couldn't help a laugh, those two just made the cutest couple. One of the best ones he had run into in quite the while.

One he had had some great fun tearing apart and then throwing back together again.

They had also put on quite the show the last night too, the smaller man could still make quite the high note when Stanford hit the right spot.

But the yellow dream demon wasn't there for blatant voyeurism, though it was a plus, no he had more _professional _purposes. He was there personally to keep track of the progress on the portal and to keep Maya's influence away from one former hobo. That mind was his.

All the same, despite his efforts she had still managed a small message, a taunt more than anything, but it was proof she was getting stronger.

And closer.

He was-they all were- running out of time. This reality was his to destroy and mess with. What she wished to do was worse, so much worse. For them all.

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"Here's what's left of the laptop that we destroyed, and then fixed, and then destroyed again." Intoned a slightly embarrassed Dipper to Fiddleford as he placed the older man's former laptop on the kitchen table.

The former curator looked at the mess of tangled wires and metal, he slowly inspected it as Dipper told him the tale of how he had gotten the long forgotten computer and what had happened to it. The older man shivered at the mentions of Bill and the Shape shifter, he still remembered the shiv to the gut the latter had given him during an escape attempt many years ago.

He hoped the monster stayed frozen like that forever. Better yet, when all was said and done and they were still alive he'd like to go down to the old lab and have a nice long conversation with the frozen monster. Preferably via communication of a bat to it's everything until there was nothing but bits of frozen meat left.

Fiddleford wished he could tell the boy everything- and scold him. Dipper reminded him of Stanley, ready to find the unexplained and drag it out into the light of day kicking and screaming to examine and document. And so blind to the true danger of what he was dealing with. Yes, Dipper was aware he had risked his life, his friend's and sister's lives, but he did not see the bigger picture.

Or at least he didn't have enough pieces to. Fiddleford wanted to help him like he couldn't his son. He didn't have all the answers, but had so many and if only they could team up-

"Dipper, Grunkle Stan wants you pull in the dumpster." Mabel walked in, the beginnings of a lovely dove gray sweater in her hands.

"Right now?" He asked, a little incredulously.

"Yup, he's made enough money advertising it as the "Amazing Disappearing Dumpster" and wants you to move it while he distracts everyone so they can't see you take it. "

Dipper gave a frustrated groan before excusing himself, he'd do this quickly and then get back to his digging. Fiddleford just shook his head and gave a laugh at Stan's antics.

"I can't believe people still fall for stuff like that."

Mabel shrugged and then went to sit in the chair next to Fiddleford. The former hobo was staying out of line of sight and hiding in the inner bowels of the home while Stan operated his business. He really wasn't ready for the general public to catch wind of his "going sane", and working at the Shack helped his mind to stay focused.

"Well, you know our Grunkle, he's good at showing the people what they want!"

Fiddleford laughed a little and agreed.

"Just like you."

He blinked.

"Huh?"

"You remember everything, don't you?"

Fiddleford turned to the small girl, but she wasn't looking at him. She concentrated on her future sweater, a small smile on her face.

"You remember everything but you won't tell Dipper, at least not anything about the Author and the journals."

She looked up at him, face understanding yet neutral.

Fiddleford rubbed his head, guilt and surprise rolled though him.

"I'm sorry Mabel, I-I can't. Not yet."

"Will you and Stan tell him-_us_ when you need to?"

"Of course. If it was my decision we would have already told you."

No use lying now.

Mabel nodded her head, her oddly serious expression melting in a soft smile.

"Okay Grunkle Fiddleford. I trust you."

"H-how did you figure it out?" He couldn't believe this.

"I'm pretty good with people. Read your faces-you have a lot of tells by the way, you would stink at poker- and I like to eavesdrop."

A truly conniving- and Stan like- grin spread across her face for a second and then dissolved in a content smile again. Fiddleford was about to retort but the back door opened and Dipper stepped back in.

"Now that that's over with, you think you can fix that?" The boy pointed to the crushed laptop as he took the seat on Fiddleford's other side.

"Fortunately yes, despite the abuse it has gone through the inner components- most importantly the memory – is completely intact. It will take some time though." He was truthful about this, he had specifically made sure the outer casing could withstand most monster attacks and he wouldn't have much time to concentrate on repairing it, especially since he now had to split his time in completing the portal and making regular appearances to his son and others.

That's what he got for having a small breakdown after "recovering": concern. He didn't know whether to be appreciative or annoyed.

The portal was almost ready to be reconnected and given a test run. He'd finish it the next night and then things would really get started.

"Thank you for returning my computer to me Dipper." Fiddleford had calculations and information in the box of software that not even Stanford and Stanley knew about.

"Sure thing Grunkle Fiddleford. I hope it helps you remember and helps us solve the riddle of the journals." The boy gave him such an earnest smile as he said this, Fiddleford silently cursed Stanford as he smiled back.

One the other side of the house Stan and Wendy watched the last of the current group of customers- suckers- wander around the gift shop and make frivolous purposes. Wendy raised a brow as she saw Stan tense.

"You alright Mr. Pines?"

"Yeah, just felt some shivers down my spine." He answered, shuddering a bit.

"Someone must be thinking of you." She laughed.

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Gideon Gleeful frowned as he looked in the mirror. The she-demon had kept her end of the bargain, she had gotten him released from prison. Nightmares had a powerful effect on people. He just had to do some community service and "seek counseling" in return. Right now he was dressing in the clothes he had entered in, and he saw that he had lost some weight.

His once spick and span blue suit was now drab and baggy over his slightly thinner frame. At least his hair was still grand. Sticking on a grin he walked out of the changing area. He made sure to play the charming, repentant boy as he was escorted out of Gravity Falls Prison.

He took a deep breath of forest air and looked at the night sky, the twinkling stars just served as a reminder to what he had agreed to.

Yes, his return would be sweet.


	6. Activation

OMG OKAY HOLD ON TO YOUR HATS KIDS HERE"S SOME VERY NSFW CONTENT FOR YA 3. TELL ME IF IT SUCKS

LORD HELP ME FOR I HAVE SINNED.

Vinny and Mike are OC and Belong to me.

NOW ENJOY

Six- Activation.

"Yeah, you heard me right. I need the Mystery Shack and all related properties to legally go to Fiddleford McGucket in case of my death, that's Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Y-yeah. We're a- look can you just do it?"

Stan's cheeks flamed a bit as he listened to the other on the line.

"Yeah, he'll be the sole owner. At least until my grandkids get of legal age. Then give them half." Stanford paused again as he listened to the other person on the phone speak.

"Yeah, and about that loot I still have sitting in that Canadian bank. Yeah, the stuff from the job in '95, I'm leaving it to my handy man. Yeah, Jesus Alzamirano Ramirez."

Another pause

"Yes, ALL OF IT. He'd make use of it."

Stan was in his office, it was another slow day-week ends usually were at this point of the summer. He had decided to get some important things settled and done in the meantime… and maybe he was getting antsy without Fiddleford around. His park ranger son had dragged him off to do "bonding" things the day before and today he was out seeing a psychologist in one of the bigger nearby cities.

The old conman thought it was a bunch of crap, his nerd didn't need any head doctor shifting through his mind. He was fine. Now…

Stan had forgotten how great it was to not sleep alone, he knew he was being ridiculous but…that one night without his personal nerd to cuddle after finally restarting things had not been great. He had laid there in the dark, very conscious of the faint smell Fiddleford had already started to leave behind on his –yes is was now considered his- side of the bed. The absence of the sound of his breathing was deafening.

Stan's mind had started turning in his solitude and he began thinking of all the possible scenarios his plans could lead to. And he had come to a conclusion on what to do. He wanted to make sure everything was set for the worst case scenario. He wanted his nerd to be comfortable. And he wanted to make sure his Shack fell into the right hands whether he had recovered Stanley or not.

He listened as the other on the line continued to curse and worry at him. It was an old friend, one who had done many deeds with and for him over the years. They had even shared a few Columbian nights together.

"No Vinny, I'm not in any trouble. I promise. I'm just preparing, you know how it is. Ya get old and then you get to thinking and…" He trailed off.

Interrupted and overtaken by the rapid mix of Italian and English being said to him.

"You're the one posing as my notary. Figure it out. Look I gotta go, I promise I'm fine. I'll come up and visit sometime soon. Swear."

Another pause, here he pulled a face. A slight blush returning to his face.

"Yeah, I'll see if I can't bring Fidd's up too. He'll be happy to see ya. Bye Vin."

He hung up the phone with a sigh and ran a hand over his face. He was just preparing, just preparing. In case things didn't work out. But he had covered all of his bases, or at least as many as he could. Stan unconsciously gripped his shoulder, the one that had his last little trick inked on it.

If everything went as it should he'd be the one taking the bullets, if any started to fly. And they wouldn't hurt him.

"Grunkle Stan more people are coming by!" Mabel's voice called him from the front of the house.

Stan cracked his back and placed his fez back on his head.

"The show must go on."

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Fiddleford huffed as he sat in his son's truck. They were on the way back to Gravity Falls and even after a nice lunch with Galen he was still fuming a little from what the psychologist had said to him.

Well it wasn't what she had said to him per say, she was a professional after all, it was what she was implying and tried to get him to say about himself. He couldn't blame her for thinking it though, the evidence pointed to it.

But that was just surface stuff, but if he had tried to explain what really happened he'd be in a padded room sedated to hell and back right now, instead of fifty miles out of his hometown with a- temporary- clean bill of mental health and an "invitation" to go see the woman again for follow up questions.

More questions about the "effect" one Stanford Pines had on him.

Woman thought he was co-dependent to the point of madness.

Honestly.

Galen McGucket looked at his father, he knew he hadn't appreciated what he thought his doctor's opinions were but the young man held hope that this would be good for him. It would be good for him to talk to someone regularly that could help him stay as himself.

And maybe she could persuade him away from one Stanford Pines.

"So Dad, what did you want to do with the rest of our day?" It was the early afternoon and he didn't have work until six the next morning.

"We could go to Greasy's or go down to the bar. Everyone's been asking me about how you're doing and if you started showing up to places they'd be glad to see you. Especially Mr. Corduroy, he's been wanting to see ya. You two used to be friends, weren't ya?"

Fiddleford looked at his son and gave a small smile, letting his frustrations go for the moment in favor of enjoying time with his offspring.

"Thank you Galen, but I-I don't feel up to that yet. Going to the lake yesterday was relaxing because not many people had been there. I-I'm just not ready for a large group yet. How about we just spend the rest of the day at home before I go over to Stan's?"

"You're going there overnight again?"

Oh, he hadn't said anything about that before now had he? Damn.

Well, no going back now. He had to finish the machine.

Holding back a grimace Fiddleford affirmed, "Yes. I am."

Galen was silent for a moment and then said "All right." And that was the end of the matter.

The rest of the drive was peaceful, the conversation turning to other things. Fiddleford couldn't help a happy sigh when they returned to the house, he frowned though when he saw his son's neighbor waving at them from his yard. He leaned over the fence and grinned a slightly predatory grin.

He was a nice enough young man, but quite the gossip. And the look he had on his face just screamed "new scoop". A dangerous new scoop.

Fiddleford got out of the truck and watched as his son greeted the other.

"Hey Mike."

"Heya Galen! Mr. McGucket! You just get back into town?" His smile indicated he hoped so.

"Yup we did. What's the news?" The park ranger knew the drill, plus he considered Mike's local news a bit more on point than that churned out by Toby Determined.

Mike laughed, knowing he had his audience. "Lil' Gideon got out of prison early! My cousin is a security guard there and he told me that late last night Gideon had been given a reduction of sentence and released with little fanfare. My friend Sherrie then told me not too long ago that she saw him go into the library early this morning and he hasn't left since."

"Oh my." Uttered Fiddleford.

Fiddleford bit his lip, he remembered his involvement in Gideon's nefarious doings and Stan had filled him in on his struggles with the child. They both still wondered how Gideon had gotten his hands on Stanley's second journal.

The library had quite the array of books in it, and the young Gleeful boy was the resourceful sort. There's no telling what he was up to.

He had to tell Stan.

Fiddleford quickly excused himself and went into the house while his son talked with his neighbor and told him what he wanted to know- at least as much as he was willing to tell.

With quick movements he packed a few days' worth into his overnight bag, he then stealthily packed in his partially fixed computer. Galen didn't know he had this and he didn't need to know. He gave a sigh as he lifted the bag over his shoulder. So much for a nice dinner with his son.

But there would be others, he hoped.

He was just on his way out when Galen walked in, waving goodbye to Mike. He blinked when he saw his father with his bag.

"You're going now…and staying over for a while?" His voice was full of surprise and disapproval.

"I'm sorry Galen but-I can't explain right now. Big things are happening, things I need to go see Stanford about. I promise when everything is over I'll tell you all about it. _Everything_. I owe you at least that, but right now I need to go."

Galen McGucket stared at his father for a moment, but then he nodded his head.

"Alright Dad, I understand. Do you want me to drive you?" It pissed him off a bit that his father always seemed to be the one to go to Stan. The geezer should be waiting on his father hand and foot.

"No thank you son. I could use the walk, it isn't too far away." He tried to smile reassuringly

In no time Fiddleford was out the door, and headed for the dump. He had a few things to pick up before getting to Stan's, tools and a few schematics and notes he had been meaning to grab. He had a feeling things were about to get ugly and he needed to be prepared.

The entire time he went about his business he could feel eyes on his back, two large all seeing eyes belonging to two different forces. It left goose bumps on his neck and a cold sweat down his back. He couldn't get through the woods fast enough. Every twig snap and leaf crunch put him on edge.

He hated being such a nervous wreck. That damn memory device had ruined his nerves. It was a good thing he was getting the worst of his fretting out on the way, the more panic he showed the more defensive Stan got, and both of them getting like that wouldn't help matters at all.

A sound of relief escaped his throat as he got to the Shack, an even bigger one left him when he saw Stan outside talking with the kids. The feeling of eyes on him receded.

Stan spotted Fiddleford walking up and couldn't help his surprised grin.

"Hey stranger, didn't expect you yet."

Mabel and Dipper turned, huge grins appearing on their young faces.

"Hey Grunkle Fiddleford." Called out Dipper.

"Grunkle Fiddleford!" Mabel ran up to the man, and pointed at her sweater.

"Check it out!"

She had completed her project, a dove gray sweater with darker trimming and a rose on the front. It was rather impressive.

"It's nice Mabel." Fiddleford grinned easily, he was so relieved to be on the property and to have gotten to them in time that he momentarily forgot his purpose for coming so quickly.

"Are you staying over again?" Asked the girl hopefully.

"Yes I am." He answered a little sheepishly.

He had gotten to the porch at this point and before he knew it Stan had taken his surprisingly heavy bag and was wrapping an arm around him. He blushed at this and it only reddened when he saw Mabel and Dipper fist pump.

"Kids go find a movie to watch, we'll catch up."

With grossed out laughs the two ran into the Shack, not interested in seeing the older men make out.

"Stanford wait I-mmm!"

Lips met lips and once more Fiddleford lost his head. Stan dropped the bag and made use of his hand by bringing it up to the back of the other's head. Without bid Fiddleford's hands wrapped around Stan's neck and the kiss deepened significantly.

When the need for air became too much Fiddleford pushed away, he only got a few gasps in before Stan was on him again. He gave in for a bit, meeting pressure with pressure and tongue with tongue, but soon enough got a hold of himself and pushed away again. A little harder to get his point across. Stan backed off but not very far, they both puffed air into one another's faces for a few moments.

Then Fiddleford managed to gather himself enough to quip, "Someone missed me."

"Damn right." Answered Stan with surprising emphasis, he blushed a bit at the admission but quickly covered it with a grin.

"But you did too, coming here so early."

He smirked and moved to dive in again but stopped when Fiddleford put a hand up and covered his mouth.

Lowly the smaller man said, "Stanford as lovely as this is we don't really have the time. I didn't come here so early because I missed you- though I did, terribly- I did because I've got news. Gideon's out of prison!"

Fiddleford brought his hand down and Stan gave a scoff.

"So what? The little gnome doesn't have any power anymore, literally or figuratively."

"Stanford you and I both know that Gideon is resourceful and conniving. He must have done SOMETHING to get out so soon, and right at this time. Also he's apparently been in the Gravity Falls library all day, doing some sort of research."

Fiddleford was starting to get worked up again, despite himself. Stan held him a bit closer and spoke soothingly, reacting as Fiddleford knew he would.

"Hey hey, it's alright Fidds. Whatever that kid's planning can't possibly hurt what we are doing now. We stopped him once and we can do it again, especially now that he isn't using your skills."

Fiddleford frowned, unconvinced but momentarily placated.

"We should be wary though Stanford." He tried again, with less energy.

"Yeah, yea." Said Stan noncommittally before moving forward and laying kisses on Fiddleford's neck.

The smaller man blushed and squirmed, "Stanford! Really, not on the- ohhh~!"

Fiddleford's protest dissolved into a moan and Stan grinned against his neck. He knew he was being a jerk but he couldn't help it.

He'd really have to talk to Fiddleford about possibly staying with him instead of his son. The idea of another solo night did not appeal to Stan. At all.

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Fiddleford grinned as he bid the kids goodnight. He had been itching to finish the machine, but had settled for fixing his laptop while some new age rom com played on the television. Stan hadn't been too thrilled about him being on the floor but he couldn't exactly sit in the cushy yellow chair and do it.

So Mabel and Stan had shared the chair while Fiddleford and Dipper worked on the computer together, watching the movie periodically. It was surprisingly good, though predictable. They all had more fun making commentary than watching.

Dinner had been some Chinese take-out and Mabel had read and kept everyone's fortunes.

Now it was almost midnight. And they could get to work.

When they were sure the two kids had gone to bed the two old men went down to the lab and took their places. Musicians played their stuff over the radio as Fiddleford screwed and knocked the last few things into place. When he was done he went over all his work, as slowly as he could. Both he and Stan were eager to get started but he wanted to be sure.

To be prepared. It was pushing into three am when Fiddleford had done the once over of his notes.

He turned to Stan.

"This is as good as it's going to get. Reconnect the main power line and we'll see if she works."

"Roger that Doc." Said Stan as he hurried over.

Fiddleford waited for him, going over his calculations and flipping through his notebook. He got to the pages he had scribbled the details of his dream demon visitation on just as the current song hit its crescendo. He listened to the lyrics as he looked over his panicked notes.

_It's the final countdown..._

_The final countdown._

Sometimes he wished that Stan would just put on some country. Or easy listening.

He looked at Stan when he returned, the humming of the newly connected machine filled the room, drowning out the radio some.

"All powered up and fueled to go." He said with a wry grin, his anticipation obvious.

Fiddleford nodded his head and gestured to the machine.

"By all means then."

Stan took his cue and with one good pull of the lever he turned on the portal. Lights powered on and the symbols on the face of the machine came to life. With a muted boom the portal activated and both stared as it glowed an almost blinding electric blue, a wind started and Fiddleford had to tighten his grip on his journal or it would have disappeared into the unknown.

Suddenly there was a crack of thunder and the portal shifted, a kaleidoscope of colors flashed along the surface before settling into what looked like a tunnel made of blue sky and clouds. Fiddleford looked at it and tried to control his breathing, he was close to hyperventilating.

He hadn't thought about if he was emotionally ready to see the machine up and running again.

'Remember, this is for Stanley. For Stanley.' He thought over and over as he forced himself to concentrate and take notes.

"Is it stable?" Asked Stan, looking at the portal as if mesmerized.

"A-as stable as it will ever be." Intoned Fiddleford. He read all of the gauges, they were the same as last time.

"Alright then." Intoned Stan. He then turned the switch and they watched as the portal powered off.

Fiddleford rubbed a hand over his face as Stan stretched, he was too old for this.

And he needed a shave.

He wasn't prepared for the large bear hug Stan gave him, he made a noise of distress as he was lifted off of his feet.

"Fidd's we did it! Tomorrow we'll turn this sucker on and get my brother back!" Stan sounded close to tears.

Fiddleford realized he was too.

"We'll get him back Stanford. I promise." He said.

They shared a look and then Stan pulled him into a kiss. Very quickly it was just hands and lips and heavy breathing. Fiddleford hadn't even realized how far along they were until he felt Stan's hand in his pants. And the he realized they were on the floor of the lab.

He tried to tell Stan that they shouldn't be doing this here of all places. He tried to, really. Really, he did. But instead of saying rules or regulations, or even just anything useful his mouth made unholy noises filled with lust and became preoccupied with marking the whole of Stan's neck.

The last part of his mind not overtaken by passion tried to get his arms to push Stan away, but they instead opened the other's shirt and his hands ran through the other's copious chest hair. It tried to get his legs to play defense in a last ditch effort but they wrapped around Stan's waist instead, both moaned as they grinded on one another.

Their clothes seemed to fly off of them, Fiddleford whimpered as he watched Stan begin sucking on his fingers. This was going to be a rough ride and the thought just turned him on more.

Sex in a lab was a hell of a thing.

Fiddleford tried to hold in his moans but couldn't. He clung to Stan as the other hit home with every thrust. It didn't help that the radio was still on. Stan began going to the beat and Fiddleford lost all sense. By the end of it he could barely form words.

Stan too had become rather speechless, lost as he was. Both yelled out wordlessly as they climaxed.

They laid there together, trying to remember how to breathe at a regular rate.

Eventually Stan picked himself up off of Fiddleford and couldn't help a laugh.

"I don't think that was proper lab activity, huh nerd?"

He laughed harder when Fiddleford groaned and slapped him.

"I'm so DONE with you!" He moaned, running his hands through his hair.

"Shuddup, you love me." Responded Stan with a grin and a cuddle.

Miles away one Gideon Gleeful sat in his room, pouring over dusty tomes. He grinned as he read, yes. Yes, it was all coming together.


	7. Reunion

Just in case it's not clear to anyone this takes place during Northwest Mansion Noir.

Enjoy!

Seven-Reunion

"If we survive this, I want you to live with me."

Fiddleford choked down his coffee and turned to Stanford in surprise, the two were sitting at the kitchen table and were the only ones in the room. Dipper had positioned himself in front of the TV, planning to spend the stormy day relaxing and watching a fake ghost hunting show. Mabel was with her friends Candy and Grenda, the trio of young girls running about somewhere.

The two older men had been enjoying a late morning, technically early afternoon now; completing the portal and their celebrations/ talking afterward having kept them up past sunrise. They would do what they had to that night, when the children were asleep and out of any harm's way.

They'd been silent for the last few minutes, just enjoying one another's company and the sound of light drizzling. Stan's sudden statement was really out of the blue for the former hobo.

"Ya mind runnin' that by me again hun?" Fiddleford's southern twang was all the more pronounced in his surprise.

"I said I want you to live with me if we make it out of this alive. Why do you look so surprised?"

Stan made a face, a slight blush coming to his cheeks. What, did the other still think he was kidding when he said he wouldn't let go this time? Stan had half a mind to throw the smaller man over his shoulder and find someone willing to marry them just so the other would get the hint.

Only death would tear him from Fiddleford now.

"Y-you want me to come live with you at the Shack? Really?" The smaller man couldn't believe it. A bit of giddy wonder welled up in his chest.

"Of course. I well-things are different now. And I'm not a big fan of sleeping alone. I just think it's time we stopped beating around the bush. I'll admit I wanted to ask this back then, but then everything happened and we weren't-. Can I just say it's been a long thirty years? Because it has been…without you and Stanley. The Apocalypse is coming. And I love you, so I want you around and safe. The kids won't mind, they really like you too. We could all hunker down together easily. Are you going to say anything?"

Stan was rambling, and he couldn't help it. The longer he spoke the more awkward he got and he couldn't believe that after all of these years Fiddleford could still make him get so tongue tied, even when just looking at him in surprise, like he was now.

Both were silent, staring at one another in the quiet kitchen, faces continuing to redden. The pitter patter of rain became more apparent as it began to pick up. Dipper could be heard talking to- presumably- his sister and her crew. He was voicing his negative opinions on one Pacifica Northwest.

Suddenly Fiddleford gave a small laugh, it wasn't a mocking one though. It held the sound of affectionate delight as it escaped. Fiddleford just couldn't believe how cute Stan still was when he got nervous; the young man in him had shown through during the entire confession.

Stan couldn't help his pout. He had been trying to plan how to ask and had just blurted it out instead. How old was he?

"Gee, thanks." He said a little sourly.

When Fiddleford finished his chuckle he smiled and said, "Sorry. I love you too. I would like very much to live with you Stanford. I have to admit, I don't much enjoy sleeping by myself either. And your bed _is_ much more comfortable than my son's pull out couch."

The smaller man placed his hand over Stan's and the two shared a goofy grin, both lightly blushing. They leaned forward to share a kiss but were stopped when loud yells of excitement were heard from the living room.

Mabel's voice rang out, "Grenda get the glue gun! We're making dresses!"

They looked over in time to see Mabel run in, full of energy. She ran to a cabinet, opened the door and began rummaging through. A moment later she gave a sound of triumph and pulled out twine and masking tape. With a mad giggle she began to make her way back out.

"Where's the fire?" Asked Stan.

Mabel looked over at him and her eyes sparkled. "Pacifica's house is being haunted and it might ruin her family's big party tonight. So she's getting Dipper to investigate and he managed to get me, Grenda and Candy invited!"

She gave another cheer and ran out of the room.

"Should we be concerned about this?" Asked Fiddleford.

"Nah." Came Stan's reply.

He turned back to Fiddleford and gave a cheesy grin.

"Now where were we?"

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Stan grinned as he stood on the porch, he was waving the kids off and couldn't believe his luck. The timing was just too perfect. He knew that whatever happened, Dipper and Mabel could handle it. They would have to.

So now he only had to worry about Fiddleford and himself. And Stanley.

A roll of thunder directed him to look upward and he noted the increasingly bad weather. The clouds rumbled deeply at him.

"I hear ya buddy. I hear ya."

"Stanford, who are you talking to?" Fiddleford walked over, a screwdriver in his hand. He had been in the kitchen working on his computer for the last while.

Stan pointed a thumb at the general direction of outside.

"Ol' Kolus and his brother are doing their magic. Storm's brewin'."

Fiddleford raised a brow as he directed a look outside, he took in the increasingly inclement weather and thought it terribly appropriate for the current situation.

He put a hand on his hip and gave Stan a curious look.

"Stanford you never did tell me how a Jewish boy from New Jersey came to believe in the tales of the indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest Coast."

Or why he was a Doomsday preparer.

The old con man's smile turned wry as he simply said, "Yeah, it's funny how things like that happen."

He then closed the door and asked, "I thought you were working on your computer?"

Fiddleford rolled his eyes and made a small noise of exasperation mixed with grudging acceptance. Of all the things about himself that Stan had shared with his lover, that bit of his past was not one of them. No matter when or where Fiddleford asked, Stan almost always replied in the same way:

_It's funny how things like that happen. _

Just as he had now, without skipping a beat. The smaller man had long ago accepted it, he knew when to let a sleeping dog lie.

With a sigh Fiddleford answered Stan's question, "I fixed it and have actually been going over the information I had stored in there. I came over here to tell you that we don't have a lot of time."

"I know that." Said Stan as the two of them headed over to the room with the repaired computer.

"I don't think you do." Answered Fiddleford cryptically.

Stan gave him a look as they entered the kitchen, the smaller man turned the computer around and revealed a set of bright red, ominous numbers counting down on its screen.

"That's how long we have." He said, resolutely.

"But that's-"

"I know. But that's what I have calculated. It's starting."

They stared at one another a moment and then Stan nodded his head. A look of determination setting on his face.

"All right, then there's no time to waste."

The two mobilized, gathering supplies and made their way down to the basement. Before Fiddleford knew it he was watching Stanford "gear up" for his jaunt through the portal. It had been agreed- after about an hour of whispered frantic arguing while in bed- that Fiddleford would man the portal while Stan went in alone.

They would keep in contact with a set of walkie-talkies Fiddleford and Stanley had made together long ago; Stan had kept them well cared for, just like the coffee machine. They were designed to be able to communicate through all sorts of interference and distance.

They hoped they'd be strong enough to cross dimensions.

Stan clenched his hands as he fit his trusty knuckle dusters onto his hands. He had gold plated them and imprinted protective symbols on them, they were of the same kind that decorated his shoulder.

He had tricks up his sleeve and a radio on his belt.

There was only one thing left to do.

He turned to Fiddleford and watched him for a moment, he was going over his notes and his shoulders were trembling just the slightest bit.

"Everything all right?" Asked Stan, knowing it wasn't.

Fiddleford jolted away from his notebook and blinked. "Yes, j-just double checking before we get started."

He didn't want things to fuck up like last time. He couldn't lose Stan too. Not like this.

The former hobo had once boasted that he couldn't be broken because he was already a wreck inside. But there was a truth Fiddleford McGucket had begun to realize- he may be made of nothing but jagged pieces now, but those individual parts could still shatter magnificently.

Stan noted the smaller man's worried expression and motioned for him to come over. Fiddleford did as bid and buried his face into Stan's chest when the other enveloped him into the safety of his arms. Stan buried his nose in Fiddleford's hair and the two just held one another like that for a few moments.

"Please be careful." Said Fiddleford as he moved his head to look up at the love of his life.

"I'll do my best." Answered Stan softly as he looked down at his.

Fiddleford lifted his heels and the two shared a kiss, it was just lip on lip contact but the emotion invested in it from both sides made it so much more. When they separated Stan reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold medallion on a chain.

It looked much like the kind Stan himself wore, but it was daintier in design. Fiddleford saw that there was something stamped on the pendant, it was the symbol Stan had tattooed on his shoulder.

"Stanford what-?"

"Just a little peace of mind." He said, chuckling a bit, as he fitted the neck wear over Fiddleford's head.

The smaller man furrowed his brows as the medallion settled on his neck, feeling suddenly odd. For a moment he sagged in Stan's strong hold. But then he righted himself and gave Stan a look, who was giving him an expectant smile.

He felt a small sense of loss, as if a presence that had been there was now gone. It was a good feeling.

"Feel better?" Asked Stan.

"Much." Answered Fiddleford, astounded.

Stan felt sure there would be no last minute surprises.

"Alright then, let's do this."

There was a final squeeze of hands and then the two took their places. Fiddleford flipped his book open and Stan pulled the lever. As the portal came to life the storm outside grew worse, the sky thundering and rolling as several momentous events transpired underneath it.

A young man was doing his best to right a wrong done long ago.

Two old lovers were going to rescue someone lost.

And one Gideon Gleeful was summoning himself a dream demon. Not to bargain, mind, but to keep him busy while two of his favorite pawns brought him that little bit closer to defeat and his opponent closer to her terrible victory.

He grinned a mad grin as the special circle he made came to life. He did not fall asleep, and Bill did not materialize into the world. Instead the small container the young boy had placed at the center of the ceremony- a mason jar especially prepared for temporary demon capture- filled with blue flames. They flashed and flickered, raging anger radiated from the circle.

"Sorry Bill, but a deal is a deal. And a deal with a Lady is especially a thing to keep."

He laughed as the candles flickered and the jar moved just a bit, Bill was fighting against his confines but Gideon knew they would hold. At least for long enough.

Miles away Fiddleford and Stan stared at the swirling tunnel of clouds and sky, Stan doubled checked the rope they had tied around his waist to make sure it was secure.

He doubted it would do much but it was Fiddleford's final peace of mind. He couldn't rob him of that.

He climbed up the ladder and stepped up on to the rim of the gateway. No going back now.

Stan stepped through the portal, hands up and prepared for anything. His breath escaped him as he took in what he saw.

Stars.

Galaxies and comets drifted by. It looked as if he had just stepped out into space itself.

In a way he had.

He looked down and saw that he stood on a single bit of dark floating rock, a magnificent and endless expanse yawned underneath. He took a few steadying breathes. It was cold.

'Relax, remember your training.' He thought to himself. He looked behind himself and gazed at the portal, it was a simple circle of crackling and zapping electric blue.

His shoulder warmed slightly, he was protected.

_"Stanford, are you all right in there."_ Fiddleford's voice crackled over the radio, distant but surprisingly crystal clear.

Stan clicked on his end and said, "So far so good. Sweet Moses Fidd's, this place is nuts. Looks just how you described your dream."

_"Really?!" _

"Yup. You're comin' in pretty clear. How am I on your end?"

_"Crystal."_

"Excellent."

_"Where exactly are you Stanford?"_

"I'm on a bit of rock that leads to nowhere right now. Everything else is just…space. Like one of those pictures."

_"How are you going to get around? I don't think you can just float about…"_ Fiddleford trailed off, Stan could almost hear the gears of his mind turning together as he thought.

Stan walked toward the edge and on a whim stamped his foot twice, almost on cue- probably on cue- stairs unfolded themselves from beneath the rock. They were smooth planes fitted together to make stairs, colored a familiar flame blue.

"Don't worry, I got it."

_"What do you mean?" _

"I found the stairs!" Grinned Stan as he started carefully down.

_"Be serious!" _An underlying smattering of static accompanied Fiddleford's mortified words.

"I am. Found some stairs, so either I'm expected or interdimensional, demonic triangles like having unneeded stairs."

The line was silent for a beat.

_"Stanford please be careful. I'm here with the rope when you need me." _

"Noted." Came Stan distracted reply.

He looked around as he descended the flight of impossible steps. He knew he was in the heart of enemy territory but he had no choice but to go forward, he had to find his brother.

'Did you see this when you got sucked in here Lee? Would you even still be around this area, if it's even the same one?'

Questions flew through Stan's mind as he travelled down.

_"Stanford do you know where the stairs lead?"_

Fiddleford's words cut through his edgy thoughts. Thankfully. Stan looked over and noted that the stairs came to an end far below, but the details were lost to him.

"Too high up to tell where the stairs are taking me, but they do end. How's the machine handling this?"

There was a crackle and pop on the other end, signaling that the channel was open but Fiddleford wasn't saying anything. Stan listening to it for a moment more and frowned a bit.

"Fidd's?"

More static and empty air. Stan stopped, halfway down the stairs, and listened. There was the sound of muffled movement, but it was far off.

"Fiddleford?" Stan couldn't help the worried edge in his voice. His feet had already taken him back up a step before he caught himself, now was not the time to go storming back like Galahad when he didn't need to.

He heard some far off clanging and then a large faraway yell of _"God forsaken valve! Turn you rusted over bastard! Turn!"_

Stan listened to this with a mix of surprise, apprehension, relief and just a touch of a laugh. Despite himself.

Finally Fiddleford picked up the radio, he was audibly out of breath.

_"Sorry, some pressure was building up and the one thing I needed to manipulate to fix it was the one that was stuck. System is stable. For now"_

"And that's why I wanted you there to keep an eye on it." Said Stan, using smugness to hide his worry.

_"Shut up Stanford. Any details on your destination yet?"_

Stan suppressed a relieved chuckle as he took a look over. He had been moving at a good pace, the usual aches and pains of his body absent while in the netherworld he traveled through. From his halfway point he looked over; from there he saw another rocky outcropping at the foot of the stairs, but it was much larger than the one at the top.

It was more like a rocky landscape than anything. There were triangles, cones, small pyramids and one eyed statues everywhere. His shoulder felt warmer and he could feel heat buildup in his knuckle dusters. The magic in them was reacting. A large pyramid appeared in the distance. Even as far away as he was, Stan could make out the eye etched at the top of the structure.

The walkie-talkie buzzed and fizzled.

_"Stanford?"_

"I'm in the lion's den."

"_Are you sure?"_

"Oh yeah."

_"D-do you think he's there waiting for you?"_

"I doubt it. If he was he would have shown up by now, or at least made the stairs an escalator or something. Triangle's too much of a ham for this kind of subtly shit."

_"Then where is he?"_

"That's the million dollar question." Muttered Stan as he stepped off of the stairs.

He looked back at them, half expecting them to fold away or diffuse into a cloud of bubbles or some other such nonsense. But they remained there, immovable and solid.

It made him more uncomfortable than if they had disappeared.

Stan untied the rope from his waist and walked cautiously, without much of a better idea he made his way toward the giant pyramid. He frowned at the landscape, giant eyes and other hieroglyphics were etched everywhere; abstract shapes littered the area. The statues were of a variety of shapes and sizes, some defied proper physics and others were even in an array of colors.

The only sounds were the ones he made and that of his shaky communication channel with Fiddleford.

"Yeesh. This guy needs to hire an interior decorator."

Fiddleford's only response was an exasperated groan.

Stan let out a small laugh as he rounded a corner, happy that he had back up in his own reality. He didn't notice when the eye of a statue turned to look at him, it watched until he was out of view.

_"Any sign of Stanley yet?"_

"None so-"Stan cut himself off.

Stan had walked into the edges of a large clearing. In the middle were a set of pillars set into a circle. At the top of each one a different figure stood. Stan squinted his eyes to see them clearly.

There was a star, a pine tree, a question mark, a heart, the symbol from his old fez-

Stan's eyes cut down to the center of the pillars. He couldn't believe what he saw. There, chained to a wall, was a limp form. It had the messy brown locks and slightly burned lab coat of one Stanley Pines.

_"S-stanford?"_

"Fidds I think I found him."

_"Are you sure?!"_

"Not yet."

Stan ran over, heart hammering in his chest. As he neared the figure he saw that it wore the old brown shoes, even older jean pants, and one of the just slightly newer black shirts that Stanley had favored to wear. The body was held in place by thick, glowing chains. They burned a bright blue, same as the stairs.

More eyes and glyphs were etched on to the wall around the individual, right above the hanging head a six fingered hand and a pair of glasses had been chiseled into place.

Stan gripped his knuckle dusters, the sigils on them lighting up with power. He knew his tattoo was doing the same. He stopped at the pillar with the question mark atop it and looked around himself, the landscape looked as dead and motionless as before. He looked over to what looked like his brother, the only motion he could see was that of the chest.

It moved in and out slowly. He could hear the slight breathes easily.

"_Stan?"_

"Nothing's come by to kill me yet. And it looks like Stanley."

Fiddleford hummed as Stan edged along the pillar and then slowly made his way to the center of the circle. Body rigid and sweat beginning to form on his brow from the stress Stan carefully reached forward, he placed a hand upon the slowly moving chest. The symbols on his duster flared brightly and then dulled.

The figure didn't dissipate, didn't morph or shift. Which it would have had it been fake, Stan would have activated any trap by touching the possibly apparition.

It was real.

He was real.

Stanley was real.

"Stanley! Stanley can you hear me?"

Stan shook his brother's shoulder, choking back tears. He could hear Fiddleford's stunned, relieved reaction from his radio. When the old conman garnered no response he lifted his brother's head in his hands, the face was untouched by time.

He was still young; had the face of a man just getting into his thirties. He even still had the bruise that Stan himself had given his brother the day before the accident, the final word of an argument that Stan had never stopped regretting.

It looked like he was sleeping.

"I'm going to get you out of here 'Lee." Said Stan.

He carefully let go of his brother's face and gripped one of the lengths of the flaming blue chain that held him in place with both hands. With a hard pull Stan broke it, the many links scattered and then faded away as they fell. They were no match for his brand of magic.

With ease Stan caught his brother and hoisted him up in his arms, princess style. As he quickly ran back the way he had come the sigils of the hand and the glasses upon the now lone wall began to glow.

Stan huffed as he high tailed it, his feet flying over the ground. He didn't know what the fine print was to this rescue, but he knew things wouldn't- couldn't- be so simple. The lack of visible response or security made alarm bells ring in his head.

_"It can't be as simple as this."_ Intoned Fiddleford, suspicion and slight panic coloring his voice.

"I know what you mean. There has to be a guard or a-a-ah!" His sentence was caught off as a sudden obstacle entered his path.

A bunch of nearby shapes suddenly collided together not ten feet ahead of him, they shifted about until they made a vaguely humanoid shape that towered over Stan, a cone with a single eye etched on it acting as the head.

"Speak of the devil."

_"What's happening?"_

"Bill's anti-theft system."

An arm that ended in a large, heavy looking sphere crashed down upon the old man. Stan dodged to the side, rolling on the ground and managed to make it back to his feet in a single move. He kept running. He would have loved to go toe to toe with the golem but the point was to get Stanley and himself back out of the portal, not waste time fighting.

The thing pursued, taking large crashing steps. Stan huffed as he tried to keep up his speed. He may not feel his age but he could feel his body beginning to tire. Fiddleford was firing questions and worries at him over the radio, but Stan didn't have the breath to answer them.

He picked up his pace as the thing began to shoot energy from the eye on its head, the beams left deep holes and trenches in the rocky ground. Stan used every bit of his experience to duck and weave out of the way. His protection was strong, but not strong against that.

Or at least he didn't think so.

He ran up the stairs, rather surprised they had not disappeared at this point. He wasn't when he looked back and saw that the golem was easily climbing up, it was just a flight's worth of steps behind him. Summoning all he had Stan ran up, eyes on the glowing portal.

With a leap he got to the rock at the top, not a second later a high focused beam of energy burned the step he had just vacated. It burst into blue flames and then faded away. Stan didn't stop to watch.

With a final burst of energy Stan threw himself and his brother through the portal. They crashed to the floor on the other side.

"Stanford! Stanley!" Fiddleford ran over to them, breathless.

"Shut the damn thing off!" Yelled Stan from the floor.

He let out a sign of tired relief when Fiddleford pulled the lever, the machine gave a final sputter before going out. The rope fell, the end burned off with the shutting off of the portal. The normal lab lights came on.

"Is he alright?" Asked Fiddleford as he came over.

"Seems so, though I can't get him to wake up."

Stan had laid his brother out on the ground, his body as limp as ever.

Fiddleford sucked in a breath as he got a look at him.

"Lordy! He looks like he hasn't aged a day!"

"I don't think he has."

The two older men shared a look, they had achieved their goal. But it seemed their troubles were not over yet. Fiddleford slowly checked Stanley over. He was no doctor but he still knew a thing or two. He checked Stanley's pulse- normal- and checked his eye dilation with a little light- normal- while Stan looked on.

Stan let his eyes wander to one of his brother's six fingered hands. He gazed down at it while he thought of what do to next. What would they do if they couldn't rouse Stanley? A hospital or any other authorities were out of the question. Stan didn't like the thought of having to travel out to one of the few remaining safe places to have his brother checked out, and he especially didn't want anyone coming to the Shack.

What would they do?

One of Stanley's fingers twitched. Stan blinked, unsure of what he had just seen.

It moved again. And then others.

There was a groan and a shift of limbs.

_"Stanley!"_ Both Fiddleford and Stan yelled out as Stanley Pines finally returned to consciousness.

With another groan the missing man opened his eyes and squinted.

"W-what happened? Doc? 'Ford? Is that really you?"

"Stanley! It is so good to see you." Said Fiddleford, wiping back a tear.

"Wish I could say the same. Do you know what happened to my glasses?" Stanley groped about him as he asked.

"I'll get them." Said Stan as he quickly made his way over to the desk near the portal.

"You guys sound odd." Stanley sat up, he ran a hand through his hair.

He squinted his eyes as he tried to get a good look at Fiddleford.

"You look odd too."

"That's a word for it." Said Stan as he returned.

Wordlessly Stanley took the offered lenses and placed them on his face. He gazed at his now older brother and former assistant and his thick eyebrows lifted high up on his forehead with surprise.

"Fuck." He intoned eloquently.


	8. Who You Gonna Call?

YOOOOOO WE ARE CONFIRMED, HELL YEAH FOLKS!

Author's note: I went back and changed the one detail I made on Stanly's hands, because I like the idea of him being 12 fingered instead of just 11. yeah.

Now Enjoy!

Eight- Who You Gonna Call?

"You guys are fucking idiots! I wrote in my journals to _not open the portal_! What do you think I meant by that?!"

Stanley was pacing about the lab, he had been ranting for a good five minutes now, but not before getting to his feet and giving Stanford a good six-fingered punch to the face. Stanford had taken the hit with a curse and a grumble but not much else; Stanley deserved a hit back for the thirty-year-old bruise still on his face.

This reunion was not going as planned. But Stan had to admit it wasn't entirely unexpected considering everything.

Fiddleford wrung his hands together, Stanley had directed his furious attention to him after decking his twin but had refrained from hitting the smaller man. No. Stanley had simply given him a scornful, disbelieving look instead; that had hit Fiddleford harder than any blow could. And Stanley knew it.

"We did what we had to." Intoned Stanford nonplussed, still rubbing his chin. He may have been the boxing natural but Stanley knew a thing or two, and still being young helped things along.

Fiddleford nodded in agreement, "Stanley, we couldn't just leave you in there-"

"You don't get to speak _mind-wiper_! You and your ridiculous Society! Couldn't take the heat so you decided to lobotomize yourself into uselessness! That damn demon got to you didn't he?! Do you even _know_ what is happening right now?!"

Stanley turned on FIddleford as he spoke, advancing on the smaller man and spitting his words out with venom. Fiddleford pressed his weak hand to his chest but didn't cower or back down; he too had expected this reaction from Stanley and it pissed him off just as much as he knew it would.

He shouted back, just as loud, "I do indeed know, and more than you I think! I'll admit what I did was wrong and cowardly, and I regret every bit of it. Bill had his way with my mind just as he obviously had with yours! However, you didn't deserve to be doomed to his dimension. And that's why I helped Stanford get you back you ungrateful, paranoid, blind son of a-"

A meaty fist met jaw and the next thing Fiddleford knew was the feeling of smacking into the cold lab floor. His world rocked and rolled as he tasted the coppery presence of blood in his mouth. Stanley went to hit him again but Stanford caught his arm. Stanley glared at him and opened his mouth to yell but stopped at the utterly seething look the now older Pines was giving him.

"You _ever_ touch him like that again and I will punch your lights out. Cold. Got it Poindexter?" Stan's tone's was steely.

Stanley matched it, "Choosing your boyfriend over your brother this time Stanford? Be careful, I don't think you have another ten, let alone- I'd say about above twenty-five- years on you to go look for him if he goes missing too."

Fiddleford watched from the ground as the two brothers glared daggers at one another. He spit into his hand and saw that he had lost another tooth thanks to the punch. At least it was a loose one so there was minimal pain, but he knew his face would bare the bruise for a while.

"It's been thirty years in point of fact."

Both Stanford and Stanley looked over at Fiddleford, who was still on the ground and holding his bloody tooth in his hand. A deep purple and blue bruise was blooming on the side of his face and a bit of blood dribbled from his lip.

"What did you say?" Stanley disengaged from his brother, his complete attention now on the former hobo.

"I said it's been thirty years. And for all of them Stanford has been trying to get you back on his own, despite everything. My mind has only recently returned and as soon as I learned of what he was doing I agreed to help. There are bigger things to discuss than what happened between the three of us. The Age of Aquarius is beginning."

"And I'm supposed to believe you why?" Stanley squinted his eyes suspiciously.

Without breaking eye contact Fiddleford pulled out the medallion Stanford had given him earlier, he had stuffed it under his shirt for safe keeping. The bit of protection glinted in the light and a familiar symbol was revealed.

They continued to stare for another minute or so before Stanley nodded his head and turned away to start pacing again. Stan went over and helped Fiddleford up.

"Easy now." He said softly as the smaller man got to his feet a little shakily.

Fiddleford's face hurt. He gave Stanford a small smile of thanks once he was truly on his feet. The larger man hissed as he inspected the bruise, he could see the skin rapidly darkening and it made his grip on Fiddleford tighten.

Stanley watched the display from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat to bring attention back to himself. He noted how his brother kept his arms around his lover, on full defensive now. Despite himself Stanley was glad to see them together.

"Maya is making her move is she?" Asked the younger twin as he grabbed a pen from off a nearby counter and began clicking it absently.

Stanford stared. "You know about her?!"

Stanley let out a dry laugh, "You think I was completely unconscious while in that realm moron? Bill liked to send me a message every now and again. Taunting me. As did she, though in secret. And my being here instead of in Bill's domain helps her. Now all of the pieces can be moved."

"What does she want?" Asked Fiddleford as he began to clean his hand with a napkin from his pocket, Stanford had laughed at his new habit to keep one but right now it was convenient.

"Destruction. Bill just wants to do what he wishes with us, and while that's not much better she wishes to destroy it all."

"She wants to destroy the Earth?!" Asked Stan, alarmed.

Stanley let out another dry laugh. "Not just the Earth Stanford. Everything. The Earth. The Solar System. This reality!"

"But why?" Asked Fiddleford, though he had an idea. The memory of the blue dream demon's laughter began to echo in his head.

She hadn't seemed exactly all that together, even less than Bill.

Stanley stopped his pacing.

When he spoke his voice held a haunted tone to it, "Because she'd rather rob her brother of his victory, now and forever, than lose to him again. At least, that was what she sang to me as I was chained and helpless in the dark."

They stared at him, aghast.

He looked away for a moment before flicking his eyes back at them.

"So, despite how royally you screwed up by bringing me back, thank you. Now we can work on stopping both of them together."

He gave them a small smile but it died when his eyes caught on to a blinking light. He rushed over to it and the security screen it was alerting about, his eyebrows rose high once again.

"What is it?" Asked Stan.

"Stanford, why are there children in ruined fancy clothes coming to the Shack in the middle of the night?"

"Oh No. Dipper and Mabel are back earlier than we thought!" Fiddleford cringed, they hadn't really planned on what to do after getting Stanley. They couldn't exactly hide him from them.

And he hadn't told Stan about Mabel figuring out they still had secrets to tell.

"Fidds relax, I'll just go meet them, get them up to bed and then we-"

"Stanford we should tell them. You promised me that we would when it was the time and _now_ is the time! Before everything happens tomorrow they should know! Mabel already figured out we're keeping secrets, do you really want Dipper catching on that we haven't been truthful on his own and letting him fester?!"

Didn't he know what that would do?

Stan stared at Fiddleford in shock.

"When did she figure it out?" He asked quietly.

"A while ago apparently, though she told me only the other day, I've had no time to tell you."

"Did she tell Dipper?"

"I'm not sure."

"Stanford who are these kids?" Fiddleford and Stanford looked over to Stanley, he frowned at them in turn.

Fiddleford let out a huff, tiredly he said, "You tell him. I'll go upstairs and handle this mess. I need ice for my face anyway." It was true, the side of his jaw had begun to swell and it was beginning to hurt terribly when he spoke.

Fiddleford made his way out of Stan's arms but he grabbed his wrist. Fiddleford looked up at the larger man and saw that he was biting his lip.

"Fidds, uh, don't tell them anything. I-we'll do it. Together. Tomorrow. Just-ah-let's get things settled tonight first alright?"

"Alright Stanford."

Stan let go and Fiddleford made his way out of the lab, wiping at the blood on his chin so as not to alarm the kids. He'd have to think of a good excuse to give them for the bruise.

Both of the Pines twins watched him go and then they turned to one another.

"You might want to sit down." Said Stanford, rubbing his neck.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"…so then Pacifica opened the main gates to the mansion and let everyone in. The ghost felt his "lumber justice" and passed on. We enjoyed the party for a while, but running after a ghost and being turned into a tree really tires you out. Plus Mabel's dress was beginning to fall apart so we called it a night. Pacifica really isn't all that bad, once you get past everything."

Dipper smiled from his seat at the kitchen table, for thirty or so minutes he and Mabel had been recounting the tale of what happened to them over some hot cocoa Fiddleford and Mabel had put together.

The storm was still going on outside but was beginning to subside. Fiddleford had kept his composure, explaining that Stan was asleep and storms sometimes kept himself up. The children's reaction to the state of his face had been heartwarming, he excused it as being a klutz and insisted that was all it was. Neither looked very convinced but soon the matter was dropped.

They had helped him make an ice pack by stuffing some ice cubes into a plastic bag, and then wrapping that with a dishtowel so he could hold it easily to his face.

"Sweet sarsaparilla, sounds like you had a real rough night." He said worriedly.

Mabel giggled as she swung her feet, "It's still funny when you say stuff like that. I guess, it's just a normal night for us Mystery Twins! Right Dipper?"

"Yup!"

The two then turned to one another and fist bumped, large grins on their faces. Fiddleford felt his heart constrict, their actions reminding him of the other pair of twins in the house.

A thought occurred to him.

"Wait, what happened to your friend? I'm sure the Northwests won't be too happy with her."

"Pacifica will be fine. I'm sure." Dipper nodded his head, confident he was right.

Mabel looked thoughtful but nodded in agreement. Fiddleford hummed, unsure.

The conversation turned to other matters and eventually Fiddleford managed to get the two up to bed. He wished them a good night, saying he'd be up for a little longer; he'd wait until he no longer heard them to return to the lab. He hoped Stanford and Stanley weren't punching each other senseless in there.

As he listened to Dipper and Mabel moving about the old and silent house Fiddleford went to sit in the yellow chair in the living room. He slumped in the seat and took the ice pack off of his tender face. He pressed a finger to the area and hissed, it was mostly numb but still sensitive.

Stanley had given him a good left hook, the bastard.

At least the swelling was going down. He replaced the pack and looked up at the ceiling. A coil of icy dread had settled itself in his stomach and would not go away.

They had recovered Stanley, but things were only beginning. Stanley had said that rescuing him had helped the blue demon Maya in her plans. But how? Why? In the heat of the moment he and Stanford had not asked. How did their reuniting spell the doom of all?

He shivered as he remembered Stanley's words about the female demon's motives. They really were in the middle of a sibling squabble, on a cosmic scale. He'd laugh at the absurdity of it all if it didn't scare him half to death.

Was their reunion really worth instigating the Apocalypse? And could they stop it?

Why, oh why did he decide to help all of those years ago? Why couldn't he have just let Stanford wander around the library uselessly? Why did he take pity on an adorable moron trying to find literature on the local lore for his brother? Why did Fiddleford show him around himself and suggest personal favorites?

Just because Stanford had mumbled to himself, unsure, and had put on this cheesy routine when he asked Fiddleford for help. Mistaking him for the librarian. Just because the larger man had given him this dazzling smile when he thanked him. His eyes lighting up and looking at him in approval.

Had it been worth it to feel like he was doing something worthwhile, to feel like he had belonged? Truly, as himself?

Had loving Stanford been worth it?

_Was_ loving Stanford worth it?

Worth his family?

Worth his sanity?

Worth his life?

He gripped the medallion through his shirt, the one with the symbol of protection and fidelity that both of the Pines brothers put so much faith in. A symbol he himself just barely understood.

Just as little as he understood them, really.

His gaze turned upward when he heard a laugh from upstairs, Mabel's cheerful tone was highly audible. He listened as the remaining bits of noise died down. Soon enough all was silent and the only noises were from himself, the creaking house, and the lingering rain.

He wasn't so sure anymore.

But he did know that Dipper and Mabel were worth it.

He knew Stanford's young employees were worth it.

He knew his son was worth it.

They and all of the innocent people of Gravity Falls and beyond were worth it.

And in the end, so were Stanley and Stanford. As was his feelings.

They were worth trying to right his wrongs.

They were worth trying to right the Pines' wrongs.

They were worth saving this reality.

They were worth it not to run.

With resolve Fiddleford got up, sure that it was safe to return to the lab. Quietly he went over to the vending machine and was soon making his way down. As he neared the main room where the portal was he began hearing sounds of light sobbing. He hurried over and saw Stanley and Stanford in the middle of an embrace. He could see that they had indeed fought, clothes were torn, stools and tools were strewn about, and Stanford had a busted lip. They were spouting apologies to one another.

Stan spotted him and called him over. Fiddleford neared cautiously and the two brothers separated.

Stanley turned to him, the smaller man noted that his lip was bleeding as well. The two stared at one another, frowns on their faces. And then Fiddleford raised his hand, a peace offering. After a moment Stanley gripped it and they shared a look. Things were not resolved, but they were better than before.

Stanley suddenly grinned and pulled Fiddleford into an embrace. Squishing his bruised face to his chest.

"OW! Stanley!"

"Oh shit, sorry Doc."

"It's alright." They suddenly shared a small grin.

Stanford stepped forward and hugged them both, a grin on his own mug.

"We're back baby! Oh Yeah-"

"Stanford I swear don't say it-"

"GO MYSTERY TRIO!" Both Stanley and Stanford had yelled the chant, just like they had done so many years ago.

Fiddleford couldn't help a grin, even as he sighed in exasperation.

"Yes, now that you've screamed like idiots you want to get to planning on what to do?" He raised a brow.

Stanley's grin turned a bit grim but he remained full of excited energy.

"Let's plan to protect my grandkids and to stop those demons."


	9. A Boring Morning

I CANNOT TELL IF THIS IS PORN WITH PLOT OR PLOT WITH PORN. EITHER WAY I HOPE YOU ENJOY MY ETERNAL SHAME.

PLEASE ENJOY

OCCURS DURING NWHS

Nine- A Boring Morning

Gideon Gleeful grinned as he snuck his way through the woods, he wore camouflage to better blend in with his surroundings. His enormous hair was laid flat for once and stuffed under a beanie. After momentarily capturing one Bill Cipher for a specific amount of time the previous night he had been in conference with one Maya Enigma until about an hour prior. She had detailed his next instructions and had kept her enraged brother at bay, her strength having increased incredibly to the point that she barely broke a sweat against his angry flames.

He would soon be no match for her, and no one else would be for that matter.

It was now early morning, very early. The rosy fingers of dawn were just starting their work in lightening the sky. Gideon's grin gained a razor edge as he came to a clearing in the trees, the Mystery Shack was not too far away. With surprising stealth for a pudgy, small boy he made his way over and got on the back porch.

He tried the knob to the door, when it proved to be locked he took a few small tools from his pockets and began working on the lock. In under a minute it turned with a quiet click; he had learned many useful skills in his short time in prison. Quietly he entered the home, closing the door behind him silently, and made his way through.

In no time at all he stood in front of a nondescript vending machine, he raised a hand to the key pad and entered the code he had been told. He watched in amazement as it slide to the side and revealed a stair way. He quickly made his way in and watched as the machine replaced itself. Gideon ignored the offered lantern on the wall and pulled out a small but strong flashlight he had brought with him. Cautiously the devious boy made his way down the steps, into the elevator and down to the lab.

When the doors slid open he gasped at what he saw.

"My, my Stanford. You really _are_ smarter than you look."

Gideon was impressed, the blue demoness had given him some information on Stan and his past. As much as possible after carding through what she could of his brother's and his lover's memories.

Now that had been a surprise to learn, not only was Stan a twin-and his brother was the Author!- but also he was _in love_ with the mad scientist of a hobo. He couldn't wait to mock him for that last bit.

Going to any means to reach your own personal goals, Gideon understood that. Even respected it.

But loving Fiddleford H. McGucket?

Man had no taste in that regard.

Gideon took a moment to look in awe at the portal machine, the work of three men who had wanted to change the world.

Now he would do it for them.

Using the memories Maya had burned into his mind Gideon started up the machine, scrambling on to a computer chair and wheeling himself around on it so as to reach everything. When all of the machinery in the control room had started up he darted out to the main floor of the lab. He checked gauges and pulled levers, he watched as the portal activated.

Colors and lights flashed. Power surged and disturbed the quiet, early morning air. Gideon barely reacted when he lifted a good half foot above the ground, simply bracing his feet when gravity reasserted itself.

He pulled back his sleeve to reveal a watch he had stolen from his father, he activated the timer function and coded in the correct number of hours. The machine needed to be running nice and hot for it to be of use. Now all he had to do was to wait. And keep it on.

"What is going on here?!"

Gideon turned in surprise.

"Stanford! Wha-wait. You're not Stanford!"

Gideon looked in surprise to find an angry man standing not too far away from himself. He had the face and body of Stan, but he was so much younger.

Stanley stood in a pair of grey sweats and one of Stan's old white muscle shirts, the material having turned comfortable and stretched out with time and use. After discussing on what to do the night before Stanford and Fiddleford had tried to get him up into the house but his danger sense had been tingling; he had refused to move.

He had spent the night in the cot they stored in the lab, going over the journals his _grandchild_ didn't have glued to his hands, and he was glad of it. Paranoia could be useful.

"You're right kid. The name's Stanley, and this is _my lab_ and _my machine_ you're messing with. Turn it off now or we're going to have some trouble."

Stanley raised his hands and Gideon stared when he saw how many fingers he had.

Twelve. Gideon's mind clicked.

He grinned.

"Well, if it isn't the mysterious Author of the journals! We meet at last! Welcome back from the land of the demons!"

Stanley's eyes widened in surprise.

"How did you-"

"I know many things. I've got sight beyond sight."

Gideon's smile turned razor edged again and Stanley narrowed his eyes, he could see it. The spark of madness in the young child's orbs; the glint of something else buried deep within. It reminded him of his own reflection once upon a time, and it sent a chill down his spine.

The tattoo upon his shoulder, a twin to the one Stan himself wore but on the opposing side, began to warm.

"Whatever's she's promised you kid she's lying! She and her brother are bad news! Believe me!"

"I know perfectly well what kind of "news" she is, and Bill for that matter. I'll tell you now I'm mighty fine with what the Lady has planned."

"What?!" Stanley's eyes widened.

"Everything will be destroyed and renewed; I and mine will watch it burn!" The boy's voice took on a high edge.

It was obvious he wasn't himself.

"Let's dance fella." Gideon went into a stance, one of his hands positioned close to the surprise he had in his back pocket.

Stanley frowned and approached, slowly.

"I don't want to hurt ya kid, but this machine needs to get shut down. NOW!"

He leapt forward, arms out to try and grab, Gideon moved away and pulled out his surprise. Stanley let out a large pained yell as he felt a burning sensation flare up from his lower leg and invade his whole body. After a few seconds of agony he collapsed to the ground, woozy.

"Ugh..."

Gideon laughed, "Prison guards should really keep better track of their belongings."

He brandished the Taser and advanced toward Stanley, who had managed to roll over onto his side and was trying to get up.

"I think it's time you went back to sleep. Just for a while, mind; until we're in need of you."

"You…won't…win." Stanley's arms wouldn't do what he wanted them to, his hands clenched and unclenched uselessly.

"Friend, She already has."

Gideon made sure to give Stanley a more powerful dose of electricity. Stanley groaned as everything went black.

Several stories above Fiddleford McGucket was just waking up, he stretched lazily and laughed when he felt arms tighten around his waist and a pair of lips climb up his back shoulder and come to rest at his neck, above the chain of the medallion Stan had given him.

"Stanford that tickles." He said with a grin.

Stanford laughed next to his ear, his voice husky with sleep. "I know."

Fiddleford shifted a bit so he could look at Stan more easily, he needed his glasses for fine reading- as out of date as the pair he used were they still did the job- but he could see well enough without them.

"What are you even doing up? It's only been a few hours and you were so tired after everything."

He gazed up at the other man, noting his lip was healing from his scuffle last night; Stan didn't have his own glasses on either so Fiddlford got a good view of his eyes. Right now they had such a soft, bright look to them. One he hadn't seen for such a long time.

"I'm fine, and I should be asking you that, especially with the hit Stanley gave you."

Here Stanford tenderly fingered the bruise on Fiddleford's face, it was dark but not large. Thankfully.

Fiddleford laughed despite the pain on his face and the situation at hand, "It's all of the excitement, I guess. And nervousness. I don't feel tired though."

He paused a moment and then continued.

"And I've been hit worse than this. Especially during the years you weren't around to 'protect' me. Plus I somewhat deserved this one. So…"

He gave a small shrug and would have smiled hadn't Stanford's mouth turned into a small frown.

"You didn't deserve it. Not really. What you did…what happened was the result of what _we_ were doing."

His hand went down to grip Fiddleford's shoulder just as his eyes lowered and came to rest on the symbol stamped onto the gold pendant around the smaller man's neck.

"I promise nothing else is going to happen to ya Fidds. _Nothing_. Not while I keep breathing."

Fiddleford reached up and cupped Stanford's face, much like he had done to him, and made Stan's eyes meet his own again.

His smile was a sweet and sad thing.

"We both know you can't really promise that. But I appreciate the thought all the same."

They stared at one another a moment, the silence saying everything.

And then Fiddleford brought down his hand, "I'm going to go take a shower, I need to wash off last night."

"Me too, you go in first. Make sure the water is warm alright?" Said Stan as he let the smaller man up, a small smile on his face now.

"Yeah yeah, I'll save you some hot water." Said Fiddleford with a small laugh.

He left his glasses on the nightstand, he would have placed the medallion with them but he had a feeling Stan would have pitched a fit if he had taken it off. At least gold didn't rust easily.

With a small whistle Fiddleford entered the small bathroom and turned on the water, as it heated up he undressed and gave another yawn. He tested the water, and satisfied that it was adequately warm for the cool, early morning; he stepped inside with a pleased sigh. He closed his eyes and took a bit of time to just enjoy the sensation of the water running down his achy body.

Fiddleford didn't even react when he heard Stan walk in; Stan gave a grunt as he walked past, towards the toilet. He looked over at the shower as he started taking a leak. When he had finished and washed his hands Stan asked, "Water feel nice?"

"Oh yes." Said Fiddleford dreamily, still having not moved.

"Good." Said Stan, and was suddenly right next to him.

And was as naked as he was.

Fiddleford opened his eyes in surprise just as Stan maneuvered him over to the inner shower wall, large hands on either side of him. Fiddleford let out a laugh as Stan got close and began to leave kisses on the unbruised side of his chin, Fiddleford put his hands on Stan's chest and then slid them up to encircle his neck.

"You're ridiculous." He said fondly as he enjoyed the attention.

"And you love every bit of it." Answered Stan just as fondly and with a lecherous grin.

Fiddleford moved his head and they began to kiss. As it intensified Stan pressed his body to Fiddleford's, so they were now flush from chest to groin. He ran his hands down the sides of the smaller man's body and griped at his hips, his thumbs rubbing enticing circles there.

Fiddleford felt a small, tight clench of arousal begin in his lower belly. It increased when Stan moved his hands to begin massaging Fiddleford's thighs while starting to slowly grind their flush hips together at the same time. Stan greedily swallowed all of the small whimpers and mewls he drew out of his lover as they continued to kiss.

With a final swipe of tongue on tongue Fiddleford broke away and half gasped half growled "Stop playing games and pick me up!"

"Yes sir." Answered Stan excitedly as he did just that.

In a seamless motion Stan hefted up Fiddleford's legs and the smaller man quickly wrapped them around the other's waist as he was once more pressed up against the wall. Large hands cupped Fiddleford's ass, they squeezed and massaged the surprisingly still ample cheeks appreciatively. Stan increased the thrusting of his hips and began sucking and biting at the most sensitive spots of Fiddleford's neck.

The smaller man let out a hardy moan that hurt his partially bruised face, he could feel his and Stan's erections hardening against each other and it was fantastic. Stan readjusted his grip a bit and Fiddleford suddenly felt thick and calloused fingers dipping into the cleft of his ass. One began to tease the sphincter hidden there and Fiddleford let out a filthy whine.

"N-not without anything!" he demanded.

"Help me out then." Answered Stan with heat into the smaller man's ear.

A little breathless, Fiddleford gazed about the shower as best as he could from his current position. He spotted a square of soap on a built-in shower shelf and reached for it, he managed to grab the bit of soap and leaned back over.

When Stan saw that Fiddleford had managed to grab what he wanted he stopped his hips' movements and said, "Get to it then, and try not to drop it. Because I'm not giving you a chance past this."

His voice was full of need, Fiddleford whimpered as the clench of arousal increased.

With a bit of fumbling-the absence of friction was almost more disorienting as it itself had been- Fiddleford worked up a decent lather and managed to slap most of it where it needed to be. Stanford's fingers got to work only a moment later and the soap dropped from the smaller man's grip, forgotten.

Stan sucked on Fiddleford's earlobe as he worked two fingers inside of his smaller, squirming lover. His gasps and choked moans were music to Stan's own ears. Fiddleford quickly maneuvered his hands over all of the special spots he could reach on Stan's body, the larger man groaned as he felt his arousal rise even higher.

Soon enough they were both ready and Fiddeford groaned as Stan slid himself in, bareback.

The benefits of a longtime, trusted lover.

Stan quickly worked up a steady pace, Fiddleford hung on for dear life. He brought Stan's face down to his own and pulled him into another kiss, they moaned into each other's mouths as they moved together under the hot spray of water.

When the need for air was crucial they separated but rested their foreheads together and puffed air into each other's faces. Stan shifted his angle just a bit and smirked at the noise Fiddleford made in response.

"_St-stanford!"_

"Oh yeah, sing for me baby_. Sing_."

"F-faster. I need more! And Faster!"

"Coming right up."

Stan increased his pace, and made sure to go in to the hilt with each thrust. Fiddleford didn't last much longer and was soon going over the edge on both of their stomachs. After a couple more thrusts Stanford lost himself as well, Fiddleford gasped at the feeling of being wetly filled.

He whimpered when Stan tiredly pulled out, he could feel the warm release begin to dribble down his leg along with the water.

"Been a while since we've done that, huh?" Asked Stan with a small laugh as he slowly lowered Fiddleford onto his own shaky legs.

"More than a while." Answered Fiddleford with a smile as he leaned onto the other. "Now I definitely need a shower. _A normal one_." He joked.

"Coming right up." Said Stan brightly as he bent down and picked up the soap that Fiddleford had dropped.

He didn't say anything as he held it up to view, but the joke was visible enough on his face that Fiddleford groaned and slapped his arm.

"Either get to it or hand it to me, you moron." He said in loving annoyance as Stan chuckled and held him close.

In the end Stan pretty much washed them both, he didn't let Fiddleford get too far away from his hold for more than a second. Even when they were toweling off, he had stayed very close and had even started to dry Fiddleford's hair for him. The smaller man noted he had paid special attention to his neck and the medallion, making sure the bit of protective jewelry was dry and in one piece. .

Fiddleford took the treatment good naturedly for the most part, if he was being perfectly honest with himself he had missed Stan's super touchy, cuddly treatment. It made him feel appreciated and loved- like everything else Stanford did for him. All the same he let out a huff as he was helped with putting on some boxers, escorted back to the bed, and then lifted on to it.

"Stanford really!" he said finally, fondly exasperated.

"What?" Asked Stan with fake innocence as he sat down on the bed, back against pillows and headboard, and placed Fiddleford snugly into his lap. Arms keeping him in place.

"Really now, I'm not going to run away." He said as he cuddled in close.

"Even if you did you wouldn't get very far." Answered Stan with a cheeky grin.

Fiddleford rolled his eyes as he tried not to laugh.

"I hope Stanley had an okay night in the lab." He said after a nice, quiet moment.

"Ah I'm sure he was alright. Man used to live in there. One more night won't kill him, and we did try to get him out of there."

Though Stan's words sounded ambivalent there was an excited and fond quality to them, Fiddleford smiled at him.

"Happy he's back, huh?" He asked softly.

Stan suddenly sniffed, "Y-yeah."

Stan still hadn't put on his glasses, so it was easy for Fiddleford to reach forward and wipe away the beginnings of tears at the corners of the larger man's eyes. This went on for a bit before Stan got a hold of himself.

He gave a small laugh and caught one of Fiddleford's hands, he then kissed the palm. He looked at him a moment and then said,

"One of these days I'm going to hold you down and tattoo that symbol on you. Ya fought me on it when we were younger and I still regret not just knocking you out and marking ya like I had wanted to. I'm sure Stanley would agree with me; I care about you too much to just leave ya with that necklace Fidds."

Fiddleford couldn't help tensing at the mention of the age old argument, he had expected its return. Fiddleford did not and had not liked the idea of the pain he would have to endure while getting the symbol inked on his body, but…

"Alright Stanford. When all of this excitement is over today, we can set it up. Things are going to get serious and all of us should be prepared."

Even if he didn't understand it, Fiddleford knew that the sigil _worked. _And for now that was good enough.

For now, that was good enough.

The smaller man grunted when Stan suddenly held him all the tighter, "Really?! Oh yes. _Thank you Fiddleford! _Stanley can do it! He's got the steadier hand for that stuff anyway, he'll ink ya up nice and neat."

Stan suddenly had a smile that was so cheerful and wide it reminded Fiddleford of Mabel, he smiled in turn.

"Speaking of Stanley, he should be up by now. If we are, anyway. And I know Mabel and Dipper will be running around soon, if they aren't already. We should get them ready to meet."

Stan's smile dimmed a bit, but it remained on his face as he nodded in agreement.

"Heh. I guess you're right .I'll- I'll handle the kids. Get them all relaxed. I should be the one to ease them into it, it's only right. Think you can handle getting Stanley into some old clothes and presentable?"

"I think I can manage it." Answered Fiddleford.

When they finally got up properly Fiddleford put on his dress shirt, favorite tweed jacket and his slacks, but staved off putting on the rest of his usual attire. He wanted to be comfortable today. He wiggled his toes a bit and decided on a lack of footwear as well, it was that kind of day.

Stan proceeded to throw on his usual short sleeve with his boxers, glasses and fez, but today he also slipped into a robe. Though he didn't close it, defeating the purpose of the garment really. Together they pulled out some old clothes Stan had stuffed into the very back of his closet.

With a final kiss they separated, Fiddleford to the lab and Stan to find his grand kids.

As Stan entertained Dipper and Mabel with some breakfast and some illegal fireworks Fiddleford found himself whistling as he made his way down to the lab. Things seemed to be working out. He hoped the streak continued.

The little smile that had been playing on his face died when the elevator doors opened.

The machines were on.

The portal was on.

And someone was laughing.

Fiddleford ran forward, he could see that the countdown toward meltdown display they had installed so long ago was on as well. They were hours from destruction.

Like he didn't already know that.

He ran toward the doorway to the main floor and stopped in his tracks at what he saw. Gideon Gleeful was there, standing over the prone form of one Stanley Pines. He was laughing a mad man's laugh, a deep disconnected chortle that sounded just awful coming out of a child's mouth.

Fiddleford knew the laugh well, he used to do it.

"Git away from there!" He yelled in his singular twang as he got down to the main floor.

Gideon turned to him in surprise, but after seeing who it was he simply laughed again, though this time it was a more mocking, human sounding laughter; with a razor edge to it.

"My, my. It's the homeless hillbilly, come to the rescue have we? And where is your *snicker* _canoodling buddy_? Where is Stanford Pines?"

Fiddleford felt his cheeks burn; he didn't have to ask where the boy got his information. He could practically _smell_ the stench of dream demon on him. The sudden warmth from the medallion only confirmed his suspicions.

And from the look in the small boy's eyes he had a good feeling _which_ demon had sent him there.

"Sorry, but Stanford's a little busy as the moment. You're just gonna have to be content with me."

"Bring it on then old man."

Gideon's Taser still had a good amount of charge left.

Stanford would wonder where Fiddlford and his brother were, up until and past when the FBI surprised them all and brought him in for stealing some very much needed gallons of nuclear waste the earlier week.

How could things fall apart so quickly in a single Saturday morning?


End file.
